The Necessity of Deceit
by Rogozhin
Summary: Forcibly returning Edward Kirk to the nation he'd fled seemed entirely routine, but there was nothing routine about its aftermath or the misery it wrought. Faced with impending conflict, Regina is forced to reconsider both her own identity and her preconceptions of others. Are their actions just? Is he the true villain, or merely an unfortunate victim?
1. Chapter 1

The city of Merestan could hardly be called a pleasant locale, even by its most patriotic citizens. A small border city on the western edge of the Alvernian nation, it served as an industrial port and a staging ground for a sizeable military base in the small mountain range north of the city. Despite the importance of those features, the rest of the city consisted of industrial ghettos and sparsely inhabited mazes of brick and stone.

Harsh storms and a perpetually grey sky set the scene for the returning raid team as they approached the city by helicopter from the western ocean. Five heavily armed and highly trained soldiers had left the port in the early hours of the morning for an island to the south west. Only three returned, one perilously close to death. Despite the losses they'd achieved their objective and captured their target, an energy researcher who'd staged his own death and defected from their nation three years before.

Their division, called SORT, focused on international espionage and domestic work that had to avoid the gaze of the media. Operating under the jurisdiction of a colonel, SORT operatives took great care to keep themselves hidden, but were all too aware of the reputation groups like theirs had among the public.

After their return a great rush of bureaucracy immediately overtook them. Gail, the team's leader, had been rushed to the nearest military hospital. The unfortunate captive, Edward Kirk, was quickly taken away in the back of an armoured truck, and the remaining two, Rick and Regina, were dragged into a series of unending debriefings. All of this was quite standard despite the unconventional mission.

Soon enough both had been released into the city and told to await further orders. For someone adjusted to a highly organised lifestyle, being released into a place like Merestan felt almost like a twisted form of punishment. There was nowhere to go, nothing to do, and no way to leave.

One of those agents, a tall woman with vivid shoulder-length red hair, found herself sitting in a small park under a miserably cloudy night sky a week after her return from the mission to Ibis Island. The first few days after a mission were always difficult. Insomnia was common, though that was always so, but paranoia, nausea, and fatigue weren't unusual either. It depended on the mission, really, but it always settled into a restless but dull tiredness before long.

On nights like those Regina often resorted to wandering the streets; after a certain time they were sure to be deserted, and she found the opportunity for solitude too valuable to be missed. The events on Ibis Island had been particularly unsettling, and the aftermath hardly any less so. She liked to think of herself as a patient person, but the decisions passed down from command had been little more than infuriating. She'd been denied permission to see Gail, denied permission to see the prisoner she'd captured, and finally been told that any further information was above her clearance level.

She sighed, leaned back in the uncomfortable wooden bench and stared at the sky. The cool night air hardly helped with her mood, but the hotel room waiting for her was even less desirable. Ibis Island had at least been warm, despite its horrors. This city managed to be cold in summer, and there was something foul about the air, as if it were thick and heavy.

A seedy bar could be seen across the street, but it was quiet and lifeless. Before coming to the park she'd tried to drink her troubles away, but the liquor tasted like rotten fruit and the company was atrocious. Even the tables had a thin coating of some sort of resin, and you needed a certain kind of atmosphere to make that work. Substance abuse had never had much appeal at the best of times, but she'd felt the need to escape the grim scenery.

Dried leaves crunched in the trees behind, and she felt her hand lightly brush over the pistol at her hip. The lack of light concealed most of the street, but that was how she'd preferred it. Still, something was definitely moving back there.

She twisted herself around and out of the seat, one boot on the chair and her pistol held at her side. There was no real reason to be alarmed, she knew, but that realisation had no effect on her.

Someone did emerge from the trees, but even in the low light she could make out his distinctive appearance. She sighed inaudibly, lowered the pistol and threw herself back onto the bench.

The figure stepped into the weak light of the nearby street lamp, rubbing the back of his head as if ashamed of himself. "When you said we'd meet around here you could've been more specific."

She watched as Rick walked over and threw himself onto the bench. Eyes bloodshot and expression grim, he still looked up at her with a slight smile. His face was one of the friendliest she'd ever known, but there was a clear weariness to it that hadn't been there a week ago.

"I couldn't decide between the filthy, silent bar, the empty streets, or this dingy little park," Regina replied, eyes staring directly ahead but seeing nothing.

Rick glanced over at her. "Nice welcome, huh? You didn't actually just pull a pistol on me in a public park, right?" His tone was harsher than she'd expected, but he was clearly concerned.

"We're trained for caution. I could swear I was being followed earlier, but maybe not." A light breeze picked up as they spoke, rustling the leaves of the nearby trees. "I never seem to get used to it, you know?" she said, turning her head and making eye contact for the first time.

"None of us do. We spend hours, even days, expecting to kill or be killed at any moment. Then they bring us back, send us out here," he said, one hand waving at the city around them. "We signed away our right to a normal life a long time ago."

She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket. "Maybe you're right." She hadn't slept properly for days, but he'd probably guessed that. "Doesn't make it any easier, especially when they treat us like we haven't earned any respect at all."

Rick leaned back in his seat and sighed. "Seems like we always end up like this. Mission complete, escaped certain death once again, and where are we? Sitting in some shithole corner of yet another place we can't wait to leave. But that's the life, right?"

Nodding as if she hadn't even heard, Regina watched as an elderly man stumbled out of the bar and slipped into a side alley.

Despite its ugliness, Merestan served an important role in the Alvernian defence grid. The city manufactured a great deal of weaponry, and she knew a lot of the city's most inconspicuous buildings concealed darker secrets. Policing was handled by the military, as were many other basic services. Unfortunately for those in her position, espionage against the Borginians was also one of many duties handled in Merestan.

A firm hand on her upper arm shook her back to reality. "I haven't seen you like this for years. Is it Gail?"

Her fist clenched in irritation for a brief second. "Gail doesn't need us worrying about him."

"Still, last we saw of him he was barely even conscious. I just don't get it, you know?" he said, rubbing his face in exasperation. "How'd you go down at the port office?"

"Terribly. Apparently I don't have clearance to access the Ibis Island data. Without me they wouldn't have a damn thing, but that doesn't mean shit to them."

"So that's why you had me meet you here, right? What's the plan?" he asked, throwing a hand over her shoulder.

"What plan? You know our orders came straight from the top, right? Whatever they're doing, there's nothing we can do about it." She stood up and shrugged. After all, she thought, wasn't Gail always telling her just that?

Rick threw his hands up, wondering if he'd hit a nerve. "Okay, okay. So if you _could_ do something, what would it be?"

"Honestly? I couldn't even tell you. What I do know is that Kirk was only half the reason they sent us to that place. He told me himself, but I didn't push it any further. "

She saw him watching her from the corner of her eye. Rick was almost excessively loyal, but she found it far easier to trust him than anyone else she knew. They'd met in the military exam hall back in the capital, and continually been together since graduation. Looking at him now, he was almost unrecognisable from the idealist she'd met a mere five years before.

It'd been a slow transition. As the years passed the idealism became tinged with a bitter scepticism, though he hadn't once let that stop him from doing what he decided was right. Still, she often got the impression that his optimism had become an act. Some of the things they'd done would have crushed her willpower if he hadn't been there to pick them all back up. The deaths of Tom and Cooper, the last two of their five man squad, had hit both of them hard. Rick's failure to save Tom still haunted him, she was sure. But neither of them mattered half as much to her as he did. Perhaps it was his nature after all. What business did a man like that have in the military?

Again she felt his hand on her shoulder. "Hey, Regina? Look, I don't know what we're not being told either, but staying here's not going to help." Standing there at that hideous park bench, she was grateful for his support, but knew support was all he could give.

Kicking the gravel, she looked back at him. "Yeah, you're right as usual. Still, it's not like anywhere in this city's any better. I'll see you tomorrow, all right?" Flashing a brief smile to reassure him, she began the long walk back to her hotel through the empty streets. The rest of the night passed slowly and painfully, sleep eluding her until the early hours of the morning.

After waking from that unfortunately short rest, she'd found the note on a flimsy table next to the hotel room door with a box of sedatives. Rick had a key, and she assumed he'd stopped by while she was unconscious. She had the spare key to his room too, though he'd chosen a nicer establishment on the eastern side of the city. Seeing the sedatives, she had to smile. Shame they hadn't been there the night before, though she only resorted to those measures when the insomnia became too much to bear. She tried to eat a late breakfast, but the sight of the flavourless cereal floating in milk was too much to stomach.

His note was short and frustratingly vague. Rick wanted her to meet him, and as soon as possible. Why? He refused to put it in writing. That was hardly unusual, but still a nuisance. They'd been meeting most days if only to relieve boredom, but this had a different tone to it. She'd read it twice, crunched in her gloved fist, and taken an official call before pulling on some clothes and leaving the dingy room for the day.

The dull afternoon sky above was hardly a motivating sight, but it was still preferable to the lifelessness that set in after sunset. A light rain had swept over the city early that morning, never fully committing to a rainstorm but still emerging sporadically until noon.

Watching the darker storm clouds moving east, Regina stepped out of the lobby of a small hotel on the corner of an inner city street. A light breeze blew through her red hair as she closed the door and jumped down the small steps to the street below.

Passing an armed guard patrolling the sidewalk, the man shooting a curious glance at her, she headed for the south end of the street. The last night had been mostly restless, but as the sun rose she finally fell asleep, only waking after noon. Often she wondered how Rick handled the long nights, since he too claimed to suffer terrible insomnia.

"Report to the western command centre," the woman on the other end of the phone had said, refusing to specify more. Western command was in the port district, an industrial area with a heavy military presence. A warship had been docked upon their arrival, with a full battalion waiting for transport. Where they were going was a mystery, but she couldn't find the energy to care about that.

A military convoy passed by, and a young woman next to her stepped back into the shelter of a shopfront until the heavily armed vehicles turned into the next street.

Watching as they left, she realised not for the first time that her nation was changing, and she wasn't sure how she felt about that. In her childhood there'd always been soldiers around, officers in the media, and all that shit. Around the time she'd been recruited a series of border wars were used to justify the expansion of the military's influence even further.

"I'm always nervous when they pass by like that," the woman to her side said, stepping back onto the sidewalk.

Regina turned to look at her. "What scares you?" she asked, watching her face curiously.

She looked down at the pavement. "I arrived here pretty recently, so all these soldiers are a bit scary. Where I'm from guns are rare and restricted, and the army's very small. It's silly, I know."

"It doesn't hurt to be cautious. Still, I don't think you have much to worry about."

"You're probably right. Have a nice day, alright?" She picked up her shopping and quickly left for the southern end of the street.

Watching the young woman leave, Regina couldn't help but think of herself as one of those soldiers. She liked to think her work helped protect people, even if most of it had nothing to do with the wellbeing of the populace. Trying to smooth her untidy hair with one hand and failing, she kept moving, intending to reach the command centre before the rain returned.


	2. Chapter 2

It was only as the door slammed closed on the filth and foulness of the cell in which he'd been so violently thrown that Edward Kirk realised his miserable state could have been markedly improved by a little more forethought.

He collapsed onto the pile of mouldy blankets his captors had so generously provided before rolling over and taking his first real look at the reality of his new surroundings. The harsh industrial lighting of the hall outside only managed to penetrate the cell through a small crack in the door, but it was enough for him to be thankful for the darkness. The thick iron walls seemed to have a thick coating of rust and some sort of grease, and what little he could make out of the furniture indicated it'd likely been put there to spite the cell's unfortunate occupant.

How had it come to this? That thought had been burned into his mind from the moment they'd introduced him to his new life as a prisoner. Of course, it hadn't all been darkness and misery. The uniformed officials he'd been presented to had put on a stern but knowing air, as if it could all be worked out by a short chat. That hadn't lasted long.

A sharp knock shook him out of his contemplative state. "You'll be summoned in an hour, so be ready." The guard's muffled voice revealed his amusement.

Kirk sat up and leaned against the wall with a sigh. They'd started by asking for his help, progressed to threatening him, and then tried ignoring him. With each change in technique he was shown to an even fouler cell. Still, he'd spent more than enough time around military men to know what was coming next. There'd be an hour in this hell as a warning, perhaps, and then?

The problem was depressingly simple. They demanded he tell them every last filthy detail of the research project he'd undertaken for their rivals, The Borginian Republic. It had to be frustrating to invest so many resources in a plan only to see it crumble before you. That was an accurate summation of his research career, at any rate. But he simply didn't have what they needed, and certainly didn't have the inclination to share anything with them to begin with.

Still, they (whoever 'they' were) had brought it on themselves. It'd been the most absurd night, having a raid team infiltrate the military research base he'd been working at just in time for it to be overrun with beasts. Survival alone had been difficult enough, all things considered. The excitement had been exhilarating, in a sense, but even that paled in comparison to the entertainment he'd taken in learning that the moralising agents didn't even know why they were there. The only exception had been the excessively stoic leader, who had a curious lack of trust in his allies and a terribly frustrating manner.

He faintly heard a scream from outside. Despite the secrecy, he was quite sure that this was an actual military base. They'd taken great care to hide the details during his long trip underground to the cells. Perhaps this was the torture level. Did they still have those? Or perhaps, he considered, they were simply trying to scare him into compliance.

The hardest part to accept was how close he'd been to escaping this fate. Evading the enemy agents had been difficult, gathering the results of his experiment even more so, but only at the very end had he been captured. Standing before a helicopter a mere minute from success the most dangerous of the whole lot found him with his back turned, a persistent woman with a shotgun and red hair, a vivid colour that refused to leave his memory. Despite their best attempts she'd been the only one to have any real success. Only she hadn't even been told what the real mission was, resulting in the lot of us leaving the island without the data their superiors so desperately desired. The look on her face when she'd realised what she hadn't been told had been absolutely exhilarating, giving him a soothing memory to cling to after they'd been separated by the many faceless soldiers awaiting their return.

Before long the hour was up and the guards returned, two men with impressive physiques and dead eyes dressed in uniforms more grey than the usual blue. Kirk saw only a short glimpse of the hideous hall outside, his sight blocked by a black hood.

A short, uncomfortable walk down a flight of stairs passed without a word before he heard the distinctive sound of a rusty hinge swinging forwards. He felt a firm hand slam into his chest and knock him down into a chair before the hood was removed. There was a great deal of showmanship in these sessions, he'd quickly realised.

"Have you reconsidered, Edward?" asked a familiar voice. The speaker stood at the back of the room, his features bathed in the heavy glow of the white lights above. Tall and clothed in a dark blue officer's uniform, his slightly greying hair and tired face betrayed the first signs of age on a man otherwise in peak physical condition.

"Throwing me in a dungeon doesn't make what you're asking any more possible," Kirk replied, blinking as he adjusted to the light. He saw a windowless room, sparsely furnished, through his burning eyes. The two guards took subservient positions at the door, faces blank.

The man stepped forward, leaning on a steel table in the centre of the room. "You have to understand my position. Playing these games really doesn't have much appeal, you see, and I can't imagine you find it very useful." He paused for a brief moment, looking at his prisoner curiously. "This stubbornness has me surprised, if you must know. Surely you have no real loyalty to them?

"I've never had much loyalty to anyone, Colonel. Perhaps that's why I'm here," he said, leaning back in the chair. Negotiating with military men had been a constant feature in his life for most of the past decade, but this particular one had always left him feeling uneasy.

"It's exactly why you're here, Doctor. You should've accepted our decision in the first place. Did you seriously imagine it would work? Defecting was never going to end well, but you were too arrogant to see it," the Colonel said. His eyes shifted from Kirk's face to the door behind. "Well, perhaps it could have worked. Another man might have made a success of it."

Kirk raised an eyebrow at that. "You did cut funding to my work. What did you expect I'd do? And now you actually have the nerve to ask me what I found after you abandoned me?"

"I expected you'd understand the reality of the situation and comply. Did you think playing dead would work forever?" He got up from the table, readjusting his uniform and pacing slowly. "Your dismissal was required, but it wasn't intended to be permanent."

Kirk listened carefully, but didn't respond to the bait.

"And now we're back at my question. Were you actually developing weapons for the Borginians? Because my soldiers are quite confident that's exactly what you were doing."

Kirk watched the older man start pacing the tiled room. They had a rather long history together despite only having spoken on three occasions. Colonel Anton Royce was the man who'd first examined his research proposal, ultimately granting funding and a team to the young scientist. At the time he'd been a lieutenant colonel looking for any way to advance himself in the eyes of his superiors. Plainly his strategies had been well rewarded.

"They certainly wanted to know whether such a thing was possible, I'll admit. But that wasn't the main focus of my work."

Royce pulled over a seat and sat next to his captive. "I know. It was actually a difficult call to make, sending a team to Ibis Island. Antagonising Borginia at a time like this could be problematic, but I expect you'd know that. Still, once I heard you were leading the project I knew it would come to this."

"Did you really? And here I thought you were just cleaning up your own mistakes. A colonel personally coming down into this cesspit? You brought me into the military, after all," Kirk said, brushing back a stray lock of filthy blonde hair.

"And what a bitter disappointment you proved to be." He leaned in closer. "I'm giving you a chance to redeem yourself, Edward. Our relations with your new friends have soured even further, in no small part thanks to you. If they threw away that much capital in the hope that your research was anything other than a waste of time they're either desperate or blessed with strong imaginations."

He resisted the urge to respond to the obvious taunt. "So what exactly are you suggesting?

"I'm offering you the chance to escape a life of imprisonment and to complete your work. Isn't that, as you used to say, all you really wanted?"

"And all I have to do is use the Third Energy to develop weapons for the state. You want an edge if this turns into a war, I presume? That was how you put it three years ago, wasn't it?" He flashed a knowing grin at the officer.

The colonel shook his head. "Not the state. You'll be developing them for me."

Kirk couldn't help but laugh at that. "So I'll be a prisoner, only I'll be building you weapons on the side, is that it?"

"You're a prisoner now. After I grow tired and leave you'll be thrown into a filthy cell to rot. Take my offer and you'll find things considerably more luxurious. I don't mistreat my allies."

Watching the older man carefully, Kirk looked back at the soldiers and shrugged. "I'm afraid I don't believe you. And, sadly enough for us both, I simply have nothing to share."

Royce's face hardened. "I wouldn't be so blunt if you had any alternative, Kirk. Sooner or later you'll realise I'm the only one who knows or cares about your work or your life. Consider my offer carefully. Or don't, if you prefer."

He stepped past the doctor as if he wasn't even there and nodded to the guard on his left before leaving. "Oh, and one more thing, Edward."

He looked over his shoulder back into the hall outside the chamber where the colonel waited.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to endure some physical punishment. Not how I'd prefer to handle this, but you understand why, I'm sure," he said, shrugging apologetically and turning his back on the scene. The rusty door slammed shut, concealing the three men within from the outside world.

"So, what's it going to be? A beating? Or perhaps a spot of light torture would be more appropriate," Kirk said, looking back at the two men. He understood Royce's last words perfectly. The conversation they'd just had was one that could cause a great deal of difficulty for the good colonel, and a man in his position had to avoid difficulty like the plague. He was overseeing the questioning of a man he'd brought into the service, of course, certainly not conspiring with the prisoner.

The man on the left stepped forward. "It's always easier when they understand," he said, glancing over at his companion. "But it's only a beating for now. You'll need to look the part when you leave here, after all." His tone was light, almost friendly. The man on the right might as well have been deaf for all the emotion his face showed.

Kirk stood up and kicked the metal stool he'd been placed on to the side. "Well then, we wouldn't want to disappoint, would we?"

He'd seen this coming for days. Royce's arrival had done little but confirm his suspicions. Still, that didn't make enduring what came after any easier.

The rest of the night, or perhaps it wasn't really night, was spent laying on his meagre bedding and trying not to move. Time was essentially meaningless down in the darkness of the cells, but he'd be expected to have an answer soon.

A door slammed shut down the hall and the sudden noise jerked him out of the pile of blankets. Touching his nose, he found it covered in blood and painful to the touch. A dull ache in the ribs had kept him from sleeping and his chest felt like it'd been hit by a truck, but otherwise nothing seemed broken.

After being worked over by the guards, two men he quickly realised must be deep in Royce's pocket if they were allowed to hear that conversation, he'd been thrown back into the filthy cell. Still, he'd thought as he hit the floor, at least they hadn't made it any worse during his absence.

But it wasn't all for nothing, he knew. If Royce had taken the risk to come all the way down here, it had to be a very _personal _sort of a problem. Nobody liked to get their hands dirty if they could help it. He slammed a hand into his forehead, rolling back over and groaning. He hated to admit it, but he was out of his depth.

What was this place anyway? He brushed a finger over the rusty wall, tapping it lightly. They had to be deep underground, but that was all he could say. It certainly wasn't quite the ending he'd envisioned after fleeing their miserable little nation.

Whatever happened next, there was little he could do to alter the outcome. Perhaps there was room for some sort of manipulation, but ultimately he had no power over any of these people and they knew that all too well. The only thing left to do was wait.


	3. Chapter 3

The Alvernian military could be justifiably accused of many things, but underestimating the effect of grandeur wasn't one of them. Even border outposts on the outskirts of the nation were built to impress and intimidate both allies and enemies, rising high above the ground to tower over all but the largest buildings. Each major city was built with one of these extravagant command centres, usually serving both as a centre for military activity in the region and as one of the city's most important landmarks.

The western Merestan command centre was no exception despite its obscure location. A gleaming white fortress rose from the rows of brick warehouses in the port district, visible to all in the area and all approaching by sea. Six thick walls guarded the important offices within, the command centre itself built on artificially elevated ground and accessed by sloping roads through three of the outer walls.

Western command was unusually large for the size of the city it served, acting as both a major defensive and administrative outpost and a staging ground for operations offshore. The residents of Merestan had thought of a great many conspiracy theories over the years to explain the unusually strict security surrounding the place, but very few had any basis in reality.

The long ceremonial stairs leading to the front gate of the command centre had always unnerved Regina. Her job was to stay unnoticed and in the background, not doing so often proving extremely dangerous. The wrought iron gates, impeccable grand staircase, and guards standing at every post weren't subtle and nor were they trying to be. Still, they insisted she use the front entrance and not the transport or deployment side alternatives, so she began the long climb yet again.

She wasn't the only one making the climb. Five men further up the steps in dark blue uniform had been dropped by a truck as she was arriving. Each had a rifle on his back, and they weren't the first she'd seen.

Looking back over her shoulder, even more soldiers were taking the first step. Clearly it was going to be a busy day. Halfway up the stairs she shoved her hands in her jacket pockets, a cool wind whipping up and freezing her to the bones. Dark clouds were rolling in from the western ocean, and she knew the altitude of the command centre would make for a miserable day if it turned into a storm.

Had Rick been invited? Surely both he and Gail would be there, at least if Gail was allowed out of the hospital. He could say whatever he wanted to say here, in that case. She reached the top of the stairs, taking a look down at the front gate. Terribly inefficient way to do it, she thought, shaking her head in disgust.

The stairs opened out into a long path leading directly to the command centre, and a variety of other places if you took the right turns. The area to the sides of the path was often used as a staging ground to make motivating speeches to the troops, as it appeared would be happening soon. Too many men to count were standing in formation outside the main building, a small podium already set up before them.

"Hey, you forget your uniform? They're sending us out after this," a light voice said from behind her.

Turning back again, she saw a young soldier looking at her leather jacket and jeans. "No, I don't usually need a uniform," she said, staring at the assembled men before her. You don't gather this many soldiers unless something major's happening, she thought.

"How'd you get so lucky?" he said, standing next to her. He shook his head, smiling. "But I think I'm being stupid, you're one of _them_, aren't you?" His eyes darted over to something on the side of the grounds.

"Probably. Hope your mission goes well, soldier," she said, quickly heading for the small SORT office hidden at the far left part of the ground as he watched her leave. People in her position were advised to avoid excessive contact with the regular troops.

She could just barely see two or three officers talking on the small steps leading to the front doors of the command centre, but couldn't make out their ranks. Putting it out of her mind, she reached the SORT office and found the room with her team's number on it, swiping her identification card and looking inside.

Seeing a dimly lit, dusty and untidy room, two men were already present, one sitting on a leather couch and the other speaking to him, breathless as if he'd just ran the entire staircase. The man standing was easily identifiable as Rick from his ridiculous ponytail and dark skin. The other was facing away from her, but his muscular frame and blonde hair marked him out as the team's leader, Gail.

"Regina, is that you? You're late," he barked, turning in the chair with a slight wince of pain.

"Late for what? But never mind that, how'd your recovery go?" she said, stepping up next to Rick and taking a look at Gail's upper body for signs of blood or injury.

"You didn't see it on the way in? Lieutenant Colonel Anders is issuing orders to the companies out there, and we've been asked to listen in," he replied, ignoring the second question entirely.

"Ordered by whom, exactly?"

He waved her away in irritation. "They'll be starting any minute, and you're not even in uniform. You've got three minutes, both of you. Get ready and meet me out the front; that's not the only job we have today." Grimacing, he stood up and left the room, door slamming behind her. An unused walking stick lay on the floor next to the couch.

Rick looked at her. "He's serious, something big's going down. We'd better get moving."

Entering the small changing room at the back, they both retrieved spare uniforms from their lockers. Regina had always wondered why the rooms provided for covert agents were so poorly equipped, but it was hardly the right time to worry about that.

Disrobing as quickly as she could, she tossed her own clothes into the locker and slammed it shut before pulling on the official dark blue uniform and black combat boots. She heard Rick do the same from behind. Usually they'd take turns to use the miserable little locker room, but considering the urgency that was hardly an option.

"Done?" he said, staring at the wall.

"Yeah, but I need to ask you something."

He turned around carefully, eyes averted. "The note? I'll get to that later."

She opened the door, straightening the collar of her uniform. "Yeah, it can wait. Now we get to hear who they're sending us off to fight now."

They met Gail out the front, but he left for the staging ground without a word. When they reached the rows of soldiers, she saw one of them on the side wave at her, grinning. His youthful face and messy brown hair marked him out as the man from the steps.

He led them to a small side area where a number of other uniformed men and women stood, indistinguishable from the rank and file soldiers except by their placement. Collapsing into a chair with a slight groan, Gail focused his attention on the officers at the front. An older gentleman and a young woman with a serious expression were speaking behind the podium. Behind them a tall, irritable looking man with very broad shoulders could be seen staring out at the crowd.

Regina recognised all three vaguely. The oldest was some sort of general, she was quite sure. He was probably the highest ranked officer at the command centre. The man at the back was a colonel. She recognised his distinctive look from many of their own briefings. The blonde woman turned away from the general and approached the podium.

Every man present grew silent as she stared out at them. Respect for rank or something else entirely, Regina wondered. Anders had a reputation for leading brutal campaigns, her record far bloodier than her pleasant appearance might imply. Gail had volunteered their team for one of her operations once, and the things she'd been asked to do there had surprised her, to say the least. He'd left Rick at base for that, one of the few moments she'd ever seen him acknowledge that there are things that some men just won't do.

She realised the speech had already begun, shaking the memories away. " … captured the traitorous researcher Edward Kirk and returned him to face justice. Those who fearlessly dedicate their lives to rooting out such evil are the greatest among us. In all the nation none could be called more heroic."

Ander paused, looking out at the assembled troops. "But the work they started is not finished. The traitorous Borginians have chosen to disregard our treaties, building new prototype weapons using Kirk's vile research. This flagrant disregard for the peace we've worked so diligently to build cannot be allowed to stand."

"Their military built a research facility on an island to the south west of our nation under the guise of a peaceful energy project. Because of the fine efforts of our covert agents this facility stands empty, its personnel dead and its secrets unguarded. Even as we speak their soldiers are regrouping to take the island and its research back for their masters. In the interests of worldwide peace, such a thing can never be allowed to happen."

"Central command has considered all viable alternatives and made a wise decision. We will storm this facility, capture it, and hold it against their forces until it stands no more threat to our glorious nation!"

Watching carefully, Regina couldn't help but snort at some of the more blatant mistruths. She certainly didn't feel like a hero, but Anders had never done the slightest thing to promote peace in her memory. She glanced over at Rick next to her and could see the anger on his face. Gail looked as emotionless as ever, even bored. She could see the massed soldiers clinging onto every word, realising all too well what this could mean for them.

Soon after that Anders finished and the men dispersed. They'd be taking a docked warship to Ibis Island, a full battalion sent to that place to capture it for Alvernia. Anders herself would be leading this expedition. Whatever faults that woman had, cowardice wasn't one of them.

"Now do you see why Kirk was so important?" Gail asked, turning to look at them from his chair.

"He was making weapons, I know. Still, this is going too far," Rick murmured, looking at the floor.

"You don't have access to enough information to make that call. It's going exactly as far as it should,' he replied, gazing at the younger man.

"Hold on a minute," Regina said, looking thoughtfully from the podium to Gail. "How did you know about that? Did you know they were going to do this all along?"

"Not the invasion, but I knew we wanted the weapon for ourselves. Borginia is too dangerous as it is." He got up, gesturing at them to follow him.

He took them to the entrance of the main command centre. "After your role in the Ibis Island mission, you've been invited to meet our commander in person."

The main hall of the command centre certainly shared the exaggerated splendour of the exterior fortress. Regina's first impression was that she'd walked into a palace, and it wasn't even her first visit to the interior halls of the building. Polished black and white squares of marble lined the floor, elegant lights beaming down on the hall's occupants from above. Ceremonial guards stood by columns on the sides of the hall, every one trying to conceal their boredom and doing a reasonable job of it. Two large staircases and a great many elevators could be seen at the back.

She watched for a moment as the many soldiers and clerks in the hall went about their business, running from place to place, calling out to friends, entering and exiting through one of the many doors. Gail approached a large desk at the front and handed a card to the young woman sitting there.

"I never get used to this place,' she muttered, watching a pair of older men leave through a side door.

"Not really our scene, is it? I don't even feel right in uniform," Rick said,

"It's all this bureaucracy. We work alone, but there are thousands of people in places like this making it all come together."

"It's not all military. You know they organise the local factories from here?" he said, taking a seat on a bench by one of the many columns.

She nodded, watching Gail's short blonde hair make its way through a crowd of office workers.

"It's time. We'll be escorted up to the fourth floor. You might not have much experience outside the field, so I'll tell you how to handle this. Shut up, speak only when spoken to, and let me do the talking,' Gail said, tone indicating to them just how intent he was on ensuring that they didn't embarrass themselves before the senior officers.

Regina shared a glance with Rick and followed the older man as he took them to one of the far elevators. Two armed guards stood outside it, one opening the doors and gesturing them in. The other man searched them for weapons, hands lingering a second overlong on Regina's chest, she thought.

The elevator was quite large, comfortably fitting the three SORT members and the guardsman. He swiped some sort of identification pass and the elevator began the ascent to the fourth floor.

"Fourth floor, officer's quarters,' he announced as the doors opened on a carpeted hallway.

Gail was the first to leave, not even looking back as his team. Many beautifully carved wooden doors stood at the sides of the hall, but all were closed and many were guarded. Before long they stopped in a small tiled room before a door with its own reception desk, the tired looking man there gesturing them inside without a word.

Pulling the door open, Gail threw a look back at them before straightening his posture with an almost inaudible sigh of pain. Regina and Rick followed slightly behind him at each side, both nervous despite their better judgment.

They emerged into a large office, several desks pushed together at the front of the room before a large one at the end, two stylish windows behind it. Nobody was inside, but Gail approached a door on the side, gesturing at them to remain where they were and entering alone.

"Why do I get the feeling he's a regular visitor here?" Rick said in a whisper, looking around at the bare walls.

"He has to get his orders from somewhere, right? Usually he just sends them to us without another word."

"Yeah, but look at this place. You need a pretty impressive rank to get this kind of office. Why'd anyone that high up want to see people like us?"

She shrugged. "Maybe they want some dirty work done. I should've gone into the officer's program, would've been a lot easier."

Rick watched the door, but nothing could be seen or heard from within. "I didn't want the responsibility, thought I could do some good behind the scenes. Still did the training program, though." He snorted, leaning on a desk. "Didn't turn out quite the way we hoped, did it?"

Looking at his bitter expression, she tried to put on a reassuring face without much success.

The side door opened and both of them jumped. A female soldier came out, looking directly at them. "The colonel will see you now," she said, before leaving through the front door. Regina walked over to the door, but Rick looked over at her mouthing the word _colonel_ questioningly.

As she'd suspected, he was the same officer she'd seen in the parade ground. He was a tall, muscular man, definitely one who'd seen his share of combat, but quite gaunt despite his physique. As she entered his eyes tracked her every movement from his place behind an oak desk. She heard Rick follow but stay behind her. Gail was sitting on the front side of the desk, but he ignored their entrance.

She stood at attention and threw as official a salute as she could manage. The colonel stood up, towering over her despite her considerable height.

"So, you're the one?" he said, walking up to her. Her eyes darted over to Gail, but he was still facing the back window.

"I'm Colonel Royce, the commanding officer for the SORT units. I imagine you knew that, but I often take a somewhat distant approach to command." He stopped in front of her and took a short look at Rick. "Take a seat, and consider this an informal meeting. That you're here means you're interesting enough to be spoken to without the tedium of formality, at least for the moment." His eyes were a pale blue, almost grey, but she kept his gaze before he turned and sat back behind the desk.

She sat on the far left, and Rick took the seat next to her with Gail on his right. The small office had bookcases covering most of its walls, with a door at the back and the exit to the main office on the right. The window faced the western sky, giving a pleasant view of the sea on a cloudy day and a face full of sunlight otherwise.

For a moment he watched them silently. "As you might have guessed, I've brought the three of you here because of the Ibis Island mission. To order it was bold beyond reason, perhaps, but there was little choice and all seems to have gone well enough. I have the three of you to thank for that."

Nice to be acknowledged, she thought. Still wasn't much of an explanation.

He looked at Gail. "How much have you told them?"

"Only what was needed," he replied, looking over at his subordinates.

"You always were fond of secrecy. Still, I don't think that's going to be necessary now," Royce said.

He pulled open a drawer below the desk and dumped a stack of papers on the desk. "So, how would you describe the objective and outcome of the Ibis Island mission?" he asked, looking at Regina directly.

The focus on her was beginning to become unnerving. "At first I was under the impression we were there to either rescue or recover a missing scientist from a foreign research facility." She paused, trying to see what the colonel was thinking. "But after we found Kirk, things became clearer. The energy project was real, but the same tech was being used to develop what they called an 'ultimate weapon'."

"That came as a surprise to all of us, though I really should've expected it," Royce said, a light smile on his face.

"After Gail's injury I recaptured Kirk, but by then it was pretty obvious he was of lesser importance that I'd anticipated," she said, meeting his gaze and leaning back in her seat.

Gail's face twitched, obviously furious at the veiled insult she'd given. But Royce looked unconcerned. "Close, but not quite. The data was the true objective, but Kirk was hardly a distraction. Having him here will make things much easier."

"So what's the real goal? And what's changed to make someone like you explain this personally to people like us?"

He stood up and looked out the window at the storm brewing over the western sea. "Follow that ocean west and you'll soon find yourself in the Borginian Republic."

"Despite the public image of our relations with them, calm if not friendly, you'll find all of that a complete lie. We've been staging operations designed to sabotage their economy, slow their technological advancement, and cripple their armed forces for all that time, and they've done exactly the same."

He turned back to look at all three of them. "You're saying what we did was just part of a larger plan?" Rick asked.

"You're surprised? Perhaps I overestimated you," Royce said, a slight shadow of irritability tainting his expression. "It was an important part of the plan, something I didn't fully understand until you returned, but you didn't seriously think that was all of it?"

He waved their attempts to answer away. "And the outcome? What were your thoughts on that?"

"As far as I can see you've got Kirk and some of the information Rick found, but not the weapons data,' Regina said. "Might've been easier if you just told us what you wanted to start with." She refused to be intimidated by Royce just because of his rank.

"Gail's love of secrecy is to blame for that, though I understand his reasons. And your opinion on the announcement you just heard?"

"I could say the Borginians might take sending a battalion to one of their border outposts as an act of war, but you'd already know that. I just wonder why. What's the point?"

"Recovering the data is one thing, but that entire facility is still intact and empty. If they protest, we can share what they were doing there with the rest of the world." He shrugged, looking through the papers on his desk. "We'll take it for ourselves under the guise of protecting the world if they protest or take it silently if they don't."

Listening to him speak, she had to recall all the missions she'd diligently completed over the past five years. Was all of it just a series of small scenes in the plans of men like him? She knew all too well what it meant that he was explaining this to them. The ruthlessness of that last utterance alone made it obvious.

"You want them to attack, don't you?"

"I don't deny it would be convenient. Perhaps you're not in a position to notice, but our nation relies heavily on military success. Besides, actually letting them have that technology is out of the question."

Gail turned to look at them. "The Ibis Island mission was only the first part."

"Indeed it was. It's not the first time I've noticed your team's ability to achieve unusually difficult objectives, Gail, but you lost half your men to do it this time. Still, I suppose that doesn't matter. I have new orders for the three of you."

He walked over to the room's other door and opened it. "Lieutenant Colonel? They're ready for you."

Looking over her shoulder, Regina saw a darkened hall through the door. A young woman with an impeccable uniform stepped through, the same one she'd watched make the speech earlier.

If Royce made her look short, the effect he had next to Anders, who was only of average height, was even more pronounced. He took his seat, and she stood next to him at the desk.

"You're the technical expert, correct?" he asked, looking at Rick over the table. Rick nodded, but didn't seem able to speak. "Considering the prowess you showed with those Borginian security systems, I'll be assigning you to Lieutenant Colonel Anders' command. You'll accompany her to Ibis Island and oversee security and data collection once the base is captured."

"Wait, you're assigning me to a regular unit?" Rick spluttered, slamming his hands on the table.

"The three of you are going to be of limited use from here out as raid team operatives. Things are going to change quite a bit, as you'll find out for yourselves."

"It's quite the promotion," Anders said, looking down at Rick. "You'll be a lieutenant in my staff with all the benefits that brings."

"I wouldn't worry so much, Lieutenant," Royce said when he saw the look on Rick's face. "You're hardly being separated from your team."

He looked at Regina again, and she guessed the next words he'd say. "You're being reassigned to my personal staff, also as an officer. You'll be advising me on this operation and performing various other duties as needed."

Well, she'd expected it. Advising was understandable enough, but the 'other duties' had a rather ominous note to it. She stood to give an official response, but he waved her away.

"You're quite welcome. Anders, take your new officer and give him the details. You'll be leaving in three days."

"At once, sir," she said, opening the door and waiting at its side for Rick. Regina realised her expression hadn't changed once from the moment she'd entered. He followed, looking back at Regina as if bewildered by what had just happened. Anders closed the door behind him without another word.

She sat there with the two men feeling very much alone. "From tomorrow on you'll be reporting to this office, Regina. I suppose you do have a surname?" he said, shoving most of the papers back into the drawer they came from.

"I imagine you'll find one on my recruitment forms, sir."

"Perhaps it's easier that you don't have one, actually." He paused, looking at a row of indicators on the side wall. "Gail, would you take this to my receptionist?" he said, handing him two documents. Gail stood up without another word, taking a look back at them as he left.

The door slammed shut behind him. She had the distinct impression that this entire process was highly unorthodox.

"Now that we're alone, _sir, _could I ask some questions?"

He watched her, face expressionless, before nodding.

"Why would you take half a raid team and bring them into your personal staff like this?"

"As opposed to more traditional recruitment methods? You understand our position, have demonstrated abilities, and have finished the basic officer training course anyway."

He's lying, she thought. The slight smirk on his face was enough to give it away, but she had to consider he'd know that.

"And this operation. What's the real motivation?" She knew she could be pushing too hard, but persisted anyway.

His smirk grew, completely focused on her. "The only question that actually matters. I think you'll find it answered before long, but doing so now would be problematic. Security reasons, you understand."

He stood up again, and she took the opportunity to do the same. "You'll find the transition a difficult one to start with, I think," he said. "You need to understand that this is a dangerous place. We all wear the same uniform, but the people in that uniform can be just as vicious and self-serving as any you saw in the field."

"I don't think my abilities are suited to this position."

"That's naiveté speaking. Give it a month and you'll understand all too well why someone like you is ideal for this place."

She watched for a moment, but any trace of emotion on Royce's face had vanished. Clearly the meeting was over.

As the sun set that night she found herself back in the dingy hotel room, the dirt and filth of the world outside the command centre almost a surprise after the meeting with Colonel Royce. Five years of lying, manipulation, and spying had taught her to see the warning signs, at least. It was difficult to say what that meant.

She poured a glass of cheap whiskey and looked out the small window at the street below. The threatening clouds from the west had stayed there, leaving the street below quiet and dry.

After the meeting with the Colonel she'd expected Gail to come back and explain things but he'd vanished entirely. The freshly delivered lieutenants' uniform lay on her bed. She'd tried it on, finding the thick blue material comfortable enough, and certainly impressive in the mirror. Perhaps her fears were unfounded, she thought, considering that Rick had the harder assignment by far.

Despite her concerns, there was something about intrigue that appealed to her. If this was the price you had to pay for access to restricted information, it was one she knew she'd pay willingly.


	4. Chapter 4

Life in Merestan went on much the way it always had for most in the three days after that meeting despite the preparations at the port and the intrigues in western command. The warship docked in the military port was a hub of activity the entire time, never resting for even a moment. Weapons and supplies were loaded. Anxious guards watched every corner of the area, officers organized for the upcoming expedition and soldiers prepared for deployment.

On the scheduled morning Rick found himself waited with his new boss in the port offices. He'd barely had a moment's rest since leaving Royce's office, being sent from place to place for training, introductions, and outfitting. His hasty promotion had come as a surprise, but not as much of a surprise as the ease with which he was settling into the role. Anders was efficient, calm, and technically minded, so they at least had that to work with. She listened to his explanations without ever showing confusion and showed some appreciation for his work. More than Gail ever had, at any rate.

They were sitting there silently in the lounges. Anders and four of her other men had arrived while the soldiers were loaded into the transports. She'd been taking calls and receiving documents every few minutes, but the rest of them had nothing to do but wait.

He watched her curiously. She couldn't be much older than thirty, but as far as he could tell she had a lot of influence with the other officers. They'd had a meeting the night before, one which he hadn't been invited to, but he saw the respect she was given from the other officers. He'd caught a glimpse of Royce himself earlier that morning meeting her privately.

"Is there a problem, Lieutenant?" she asked, having caught him staring.

"No, not really, uh, sir. This is all kind of new to me, you know?" he replied, deciding not to lie.

"You'll adjust quickly enough. Similar work, but less shooting and more respect."

He nodded, averting his eyes. Her constantly disinterested tone reminded him of Regina, but it lacked his friend's warmth. Regina acted detached, but he knew there was more to her than the act.

"Is it our destination? You lost half your team there, I recall," she said, looking through a pile of papers while speaking.

It was a valid question, he knew. If he'd only been more careful Tom might not have died, and he hadn't forgotten that for a moment. "It was dangerous enough when we were there. Now we're taking a full force and expecting Borginia to do the same. I just see how this could go wrong, that's all."

"Judging from the schematics you brought back, that facility is going to be one of the easiest places to defend I've ever seen. We'll take it first, and they can kill themselves trying to take it back. It's a fairly routine assignment, all things considered. Excuse me." She rose to take a call, and Rick felt almost relieved.

After another hour of waiting she declared it time for them to leave. Leaving the comfortable offices for the warmth of a rare sunny Merestan day, he saw a group of officers in the distance watching the last of the soldiers loading onto the ships. He almost turned away before he saw a flash of red among the crowd.

Definitely her, he thought. Nobody else he'd ever known had hair like that. He waved, trying to attract her attention. Anders looked slightly irritated, he saw, but said nothing. Their path took them close to the other officers and he used the opportunity to slip over.

"Hey, Regina," he called, attracting the attention of more than just her.

She watched as he approached but didn't move. "How's the new job working out?"

"The job's not the problem, same old stuff really. You know nobody's better at what I do," he said, pausing for a moment. "Still, I never wanted to see Ibis Island again."

"They must really want Kirk's data," she said, looking over at the ships.

"It can't just be that. They've got Kirk, so why take such huge risks?"

She shrugged. "Ask your new boss, I bet she knows."

"Don't give me that. What do you really think?"

The officers accompanying Regina started heading for the port office, one handing her a note as he left. "I don't know what to think. We're not being told the full story, but we're just the grunts."

Rick felt himself getting annoyed. Regina's apathy, so at odds with her actions, had frustrated him for years. "Well I intend to find out. We're the good guys, right? That's what we both said when we signed up. Can you honestly say you still believe that?"

She stared at him but said nothing. Anders was speaking to a group of port officials, he noted, before looking back at Regina. "That's what I thought," he murmured, rubbing his weary eyes with one hand.

"So the military does some bad things. What can you do about that?"

"Maybe nothing. But I have to try. It makes me sick every time I ignore what's right because of orders. We went to Ibis Island thinking we were going to rescue an energy researcher. Then we find out we're there to kidnap the guy for making weapons, but only so he can make weapons for _us_ instead. But you know what really got to me? I wasn't even surprised that they lied."

She laughed, but there was no humour in it. "You're an idealist, Rick. This is the last place you should be."

"Maybe you're right," he said, before pausing and looking to see if they were being watched. "But maybe this is exactly where I should be." He reached into his side pocket and withdrew a small disc, pressing it into her hand under the guise of shaking it.

Pocketing it without looking, she didn't even look surprised. "So what's this?"

"I'm sick of sitting back and taking it. I had access to the servers in the port office, so I bypassed their security and copied the entire database."

"Why am I not surprised?" She sounded exasperated, but he knew she'd help him. "I'll assume you're smart enough not to get caught. What do want me to do with it?"

"Find out what's really going on. I don't know how much is kept on those servers, but there should be something." He gestured back at the ship and waiting officers. "I'm not going to have the chance, so it's going to have to be you."

She looked ready to argue the point but stopped, suddenly looking quite serious. "Look after yourself, okay? Don't blame yourself if it goes wrong and try to come back in one piece. I'll see what I can find out here, but I don't know how much that'll be." She paused, looking back at the ship. "And watch out for Anders. Some of the things I've heard about her aren't exactly pleasant."

"Yeah, I know. But thanks, Regina. Without you I'd be completely alone," he said, flashing a half-hearted smile at her before turning back toward the ship.

Despite her cynicism, he knew she felt the same way he did. There was such a difference between what they were told they were doing and the results of those actions. So much of what they did only caused more harm, but he'd never understood why. Who benefited from causing so much misery?

Alvernia was a military state in all but name, he knew, but its citizens lived comfortable lives and it restrained itself from excessive imperialism. As a student he'd been quite politically active, drawn to activism by his strong sense of ethics. At the time he'd been protesting the military's influence in economics. There was an element of central planning in the Alvernian economy and more and more of those resources had been siphoned off for military uses as time passed.

Joining the military wasn't unusual, even for activists. So many functions were managed from the command centres that a great number of people had some connection to the army. It hadn't quite been what he'd hoped, but concentrating on the welfare of the people around him had helped him to forget that.

Reaching the officers, Anders turned away from the dock officials. They boarded the ships without any real ceremony, receiving a quick tour from some of the crew before being left to their own devices. His own quarters were small but quite comfortably outfitted. A small window looked out on the open ocean, but he'd never been fond of the sea.

The next few days passed without much incident, to the point where he found himself bored. Ibis Island was not so far as that, but they'd stopped the day before on official orders. The soldiers were growing irritable and so was everyone else. Being stuck on a cramped ship for no real reason was extremely frustrating, and he found himself waiting on the open deck just to avoid claustrophobia.

That was where he found himself on the afternoon of the fourth day. By then he'd found a comfortable spot away from prying eyes to sit and think. The ocean was calm, but dark clouds could be seen in the far west. The weather changed very quickly, he'd learned, and so even the outdoors wasn't truly comfortable. He wasn't the only one trying to escape the cramped halls, but he'd spoken to very few of the other men since arriving. The other officers were polite but distant. At first he'd assumed that was because of his unusual background, but none of them seemed particularly friendly even among each other.

He watched a smaller transport ship to the warship's side as three men patrolled the top deck, but a young voice interrupted his thoughts. "Sir? You're wanted at a meeting in the officers' quarters."

He looked back, feeling a slight breeze pick up in the west. "Really? What do they want this time?"

The messenger, a man who looked as though he'd only been recruited within the last year, looked worried, as if he wasn't used to be asked follow-up questions. "I… well, I'm not sure, sir, but some of the sailors said we might be moving out soon."

Well, shit, he thought. Unpleasant as the ocean was, he almost preferred it to the thought of Ibis Island. "All right, thanks," he said, nodding and heading back down into the ship.

He reached the meeting room within five minutes, seeing most of the other officers already present. Anders was sitting behind a small desk, the entire thing covered in papers. She looked bored, at least as far as he could tell, but most of the others seemed anxious. One woman to his left was sweating profusely.

"Sit down," Anders said as he entered, waving at a seat near the door. He noticed within the first three days alone her distaste for ceremony.

She rose, looking blankly at them all. "We've received new orders from command. The Borginian recovery force is still a day away, so we'll be moving on the island tonight."

"Why'd we even have to wait in the first place? One day's not enough to set up a proper defence," asked a middle aged man near the front, who Rick had gathered was in charge of securing the facility.

"We became aware after embarking that the facility may still have been at risk of some sort of violent explosion. Between waiting a few days and risking so many soldiers, the choice was obvious."

Does that mean Kirk's working with them now? Rick knew he was a captive, but they'd barely spoken of him once. Nobody else would've known enough about the Third Energy to confirm the risk.

The older officer nodded, satisfied with the answer. Anders waited for a moment and then continued. "There are some other changes. Capturing this island is the most essential goal we have, at least for now. It will need to be done with as much efficiency as we can manage."

"What do you mean by efficiency?" Rick said, interrupting her monologue.

"I mean there's no room for error. Every last man they send to retake the island will be killed in action, and the facility itself must be kept undamaged as much as possible." She watched him, an odd look on her face. "You would understand better than anyone; if the facility is destroyed this entire exercise is completely worthless."

She turned away, looking back at the senior officers in front. "We've also been warned that internal threats are becoming an issue. Insurgents in the ranks and revolutionaries at home have caused unacceptable amounts of damage in the last three months alone."

The woman to his left nodded. "An armoury bombed, another two looted, and a major murdered in his own quarters, all right under the major general's nose."

"Hardly a surprise, is it?" Anders asked. "Don't expect such issues here. Still, internal security is monitoring any potential threats carefully."

Rick recalled hearing idle talk among the men regarding unrest in the border cities, but yet again he realised he was uninformed. Where did these revolutionaries come from, and what did they want? He didn't ask.

"There's another island near here that could prove problematic, sir," one of the younger officers said. "It's a military supply base for Borginia. Small, but it could support a siege against our position almost indefinitely."

"Yes, you're right. But I wouldn't worry about that; a SORT unit was sent to sabotage it some time ago," she replied, barely sparing a glance at the man.

"You don't find that much aggression excessive, sir? Rick saw at once the officer had overstepped. The room fell silent, and Anders finally gave her full attention to the briefing.

"Not in the least, Morton. Neither would you, if only you were aware of the circumstances that made such action necessary," she said. Rick let out the breath he'd been holding, expecting any insolence to be taken far more seriously. His new superior reminded him of Gail, right down to the hair, but Gail was stern – this woman seemed completely disinterested in those around her.

The room was silent for a moment. He looked to his right at the outspoken young officer. The man was clearly irritated, but refrained from any further comments. One of the older officers rose and began speaking of logistics in a droning monotone, and Rick was one of the few to give the man his full attention. If he must be an officer, he was determined to be a good one.

The briefing lasted another hour, most of which was taken up by matters of supply and strategy. Anders and three of her men left with barely a word halfway through the logistics officer's speech, and Rick left no more informed than when he'd entered.

He wandered aimlessly but inevitably found himself in his usual spot on the open deck. The sky was darker and a strong breeze had blown in during their meeting, but the air was warm. He gripped the railing and exhaled, trying to calm himself for the return to Ibis Island.

"Looks like we're going to have to go in under a storm, huh?" a voice asked from behind.

Surprised but not alarmed, Rick looked over his shoulder and saw the insolent young officer from the briefing. The man before him was tall, very muscular, and had short blonde hair which badly needed styling. He shook his head, convinced for the slightest moment the man was a younger Gail. Looking again, he saw the difference in height and the softer, almost friendlier facial features that distinguished the two.

"Looks that way," he replied, turning back to the sea as the officer approached the railing. "Doesn't make much difference to me."

He saw the man's gaze move from the rough waters to his face. "I suppose not." The officer's eyes narrowed, but he seemed reluctant to speak his mind.

"You've done this before, right?" Rick asked, thinking of the masses of soldiers below.

"I'm a TRAT officer. This is all we do," the man replied. "But surely you've seen action. Not often that they bring in someone new like this unless they've got something to offer. Not to this unit, anyway."

Rick found that strange and looked at the man to see if he was joking at his expense. "I've seen more action than most, but not in the army. You weren't told why I'm here?"

"We were told that you were a technical expert with an 'espionage background' and that was it," he said, a disdainful smirk on his face. "I'd have pushed further but you saw how Anders is, and she's the only one who knows." He shrugged. "Other than you, of course."

It all seemed rather ridiculous to Rick, but he found the unwarranted secrecy unsettling. "Look, I've been here for barely a week. Before that I was a field operative. They've got me here for a very specific reason, but don't think I'm going to get on the wrong side of a lieutenant colonel just to satisfy your curiosity."

The man laughed, brushing his windswept hair back into place. "No? Probably the smart thing to do, but we'll see about that." He held out his hand and Rick grasped it. "I'm First Lieutenant Morton, but you might as well as well forget the formality and call me Dylan. No need for formality among friends, right?" he said, leaning back on the railing. A few drops of rain started to fall.

Despite his suspicions, Rick found he appreciated the company. Morton was soft spoken but quite charismatic despite that. He wasn't a solitary man by nature and found it difficult to be without the support of friends for long.

"I'm Rick, same rank. You'll have to tell me more about being in the service."

"No surname? Easy way to spot a spook. Let's head back to the officer's rooms and find a quiet corner. There's a lot to share and not much time," Dylan said, gesturing back at the stairwell.

It was something he'd tried not to dwell on, but Rick's dissatisfaction with the military and the things it did was never far from his mind. Could Morton share those feelings? Well, he considered, even if he didn't, it was going to be a lonely mission without at least one friend, and the other officer was clearly willing to trade information. Whatever they expected to happen on Ibis Island, he wasn't going to go back there unprepared.

They spent the rest of the afternoon chatting and joking. Light conversation, quite cheerful, but each man found what he was looking for, and when the sun set the order to seize Ibis Island was finally given.


	5. Chapter 5

The desk was covered in maps and paperwork, and the maps were covered in scribbles. The Colonel's office was comfortably equipped and stylishly outfitted. Polished blue and white tiles lined the floor around the six officer's desks in the centre of the room, and the two entrances. Royce's desk and a smaller one to its side lay at the far side of the room, the hot summer sun shining through two carved windows behind.

The maps covered Regina's desk, and she'd spent the entire afternoon scrawling notes and markings on them at the Colonel's behest. One was of Ibis Island, a blank satellite image taken the week before. Another was of Borginia itself, and covered in notes and numbers linked to observations. Only five of the room's eight desks were occupied. She and four others were under his direct command, all selected, she'd learned, for their particular talents. The other two seats were reserved for the lieutenant colonel and her assistant, and had been collecting dust for over a week since their departure for Ibis Island.

Adjusting to office work had been difficult. The work itself was easy, the company tolerable, and the rank came with much greater access to information than she was used to having, but she'd never adjusted to tedium or routine easily. She passed over the Borginian map to a stern faced woman to her left. Much of her work was educational; Royce had her learning all sorts of information and memorising maps of important places.

The door opened and a short man entered, clearly exhausted. He collapsed into a spare seat across from her, ignored the filthy look the desk's occupant threw at him and dumped a stack of papers on the table.

"I'm never going to understand this place's obsession with paperwork. What'd they invent computers for?" he mumbled, passing sheets to the four of them.

"Hey, I make a complaint every year, and every year they ignore me. Royce likes his paperwork and you're his personal assistant, Mirzin. You deal with it," said the woman to her left, an officer named Kesler with a history in the infantry, or so Regina gathered.

Mirzin shrugged, slumped in his seat and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. He looked over at Regina. "This island of yours is ruining my life, Regina. Ever since you showed up I've been lucky to get an hour's sleep without someone bothering me.

She couldn't help but smile at that. One of the first things she'd learned was that formality was optional after the senior officers left, or even when they were there if the time was right. "Isn't that how it always works?" she asked, picking up the document he'd thrown over.

"Depends, really. This is the Colonel's pet project. He's in the command centre twenty hours a day lately. Never knew command was so time consuming," Mirzin said, pouring himself a drink. He turned to the man at the other end of the table and passed an envelope to him, and Regina looked at the document, a status report on the expedition to Ibis Island.

"So they've landed on the island and seized the upper levels and the lowest level. The lieutenant colonel set up defensive positions around the facility, including in the positions I marked, how nice," she mumbled, picturing the research facility. "Hostile creatures as described have been encountered, but many are malnourished and pose little threat. Orders to exterminate on sight, though the generator floor has been sealed by automatic security, technical expert is investigating – must be Rick, he'll love that. Three survivors encountered, injured and barely living." she finished, brushing the page while lost in thought.

She shook herself out of it and looked up in time to see the man Mirzin passed an envelope to leave, an obviously troubled look on his face. "So, it's all gone to plan then," she said.

Kesler threw her update down. "You forget the only important part," she said. "Borginian recovery force within half a day of the island. Skirmishes might be common, but command wants every man they send killed."

"How is it the public knows none of this? We can't just kill an entire strike force and pretend it didn't happen," Regina asked.

Mirzin looked puzzled. "You were SORT, right? How many of your 'adventures' ever went public? Media do what they're told, much like everyone else, and Borginia don't want anyone to know about their secret weapons projects, so they're not likely to tell anyone." He sipped at his glass of water and leaned forward. "The things we do here are on a larger scale, maybe, but not so different from what you're used to."

"Still, it's dangerous. The Colonel's pushing the limits and it's showing. When Hereson was in charge of espionage you'd never seen something like this," Kesler said, glancing over at the main doors.

Then the last officer on the end desk, a grim man who must have been in his fifties who'd been entirely silent up to then, spoke and surprised them all. "Hereson was so cautious nothing ever got done. Royce is ambitious, and we're in this mess." He shrugged, as if it wasn't his concern in the least. "The diplomatic method got Hereson promoted to major general. We'll see where the Colonel's way takes him."

Mirzin laughed. "Either way, I bet we're not going to be stuck in this office for thirty years under Royce like you were under Hereson. All the way to the top, right Pretsin?"

"Or the bottom," the older man murmured. "Not much for us to do right now anyway, big plans or not."

"But you're still on duty, so here you are. Speaking of which," Mirzin said, looking back at an antique grandfather clock by the wall, "I've finally got some time off, a whole twelve hours. Could sleep, but then I'd be back here without a break."

Regina broke out of her thoughts and saw the fading sun through the window. "Looks like I'm off too."

"I swear you get twice as much down time as I do. Still, want to get some drinks? Might be our last chance for a while," Mirzin asked.

She paused to consider that. Mirzin was charismatic and definitely better company than the other officers. He likely had other motives, either personal or professional, but that worked both ways.

"Sure, but only if you know somewhere that's _not _a shithole like everywhere else I've been in this city," she said, rising from her seat and shoving the stack of papers in a drawer.

They left the Colonel's office, passing the two armed guards outside and the receptionist, and then the next set of armed guards in the main hall outside, each one saluting as if they were important. Were they important, she thought? It was a completely different environment to field work, but often felt no less hostile.

Despite the impending sunset the streets were no less hot. The roads burned and their thick uniforms made it even worse. Merestan's weather was anything but predictable, and a cool day of dark clouds and rain could be followed by a week of burning heat.

"There's a place on the western side of the city near the coast. Bad area, good service. Usually I'd suggest changing into better clothes, but we could be called back at any minute, even if they did promise me twelve hours off there's no reason to believe them," he said while wiping sweat off his forehead.

"Right."

"You'll see. I took Kesler out for drinks once, but she's not the social type. Pretsin doesn't like me, so he's out. Even invited that blonde agent once, but he didn't even answer me. Sure is hard to find good company,' he said as they turned into a small lane, terribly indignant if his tone was to be believed, and she was quite sure it wasn't.

"Blonde agent? Big guy? Stern face and muscles?" she asked, suddenly taking an interest in his chatter.

"Yeah, that's the guy. Or a guy. How many blonde meatheads can there be in one office?"

"Why invite him?"

"He'd been hanging around for weeks. I figured the Colonel must have put him on, and since I'm his personal assistant…" Mirzin said, shrugging. "He still shows up sometimes, but I figure it's not my business."

They passed into a small street facing the western ocean. The buildings were carved from stone slabs, quite old, and many had boarded up doors and windows despite their ornate appearance. Few stores were open despite the indications that it was a commercial area, and the only notable hub of activity was a well lit outdoor dining area on the side of the street.

Regina put the thought of Gail out of her mind. Clearly he was valued by the officers, but that wasn't so unusual. She looked at her travelling companion, watched his short, lean body, carefree expression, and realised he wasn't to be underestimated. He knew more than his words implied.

"This is the place. The only place, really. Clean, cheap, quiet," Mirzin said, pointing up the street. Two passers-by watched them carefully, she noticed, eyes fixed on their uniforms, before moving ahead.

They entered the establishment, one which didn't seem to bother with a name. As he said, it was clean, busy, and comfortable. They found a table up the back and ordered, but Regina was still surprised to find both the tables and glasses free of filth.

"Wouldn't have expected it, really, looking at the street outside," she murmured, looking over at the bar.

Mirzin's smile didn't fade, but grew less sincere, or so she judged it. "It's always been a poor area. But these are good people, and it's the life that's been forced on them. Disgraceful, really. Twenty minutes walk from western command and the conditions are like this," he said.

He looked up, almost alarmed. "Still, I didn't say that. Right?'

She watched him and slowly nodded. "Right."

"And I also didn't say that this place doesn't officially exist, and isn't officially taxed."

"Explains the dirty looks we've been getting," she said, finishing her glass of vodka, which was incredibly cheap for the quality.

Mirzin looked around then back before shrugging. "Uniformed officials aren't always welcome, you know?"

"I can imagine," she said as the waitress refilled her glass. "So, do you invite all your new colleagues out for drinks at the pub that doesn't exist?"

"Only the interesting ones. You get an interesting bunch in Royce's outfit, but you and your buddies are especially interesting," he replied, a smug grin on his face. "Besides, I never like to drink alone if I can help it."

"I suppose you want me to tell you why I was promoted out of the espionage division?"

"No, I already know that."

She watched him, silent and waiting.

"You're surprised? It'd be difficult to be the Colonel's personal assistant if he hid every minor detail from me."

"You're a good actor. I suspected, but couldn't be sure,' she said, sipping at her drink.

"Nothing to worry about. All on the same side, right?" he replied, watching an increasingly heated argument between three men behind her. "It's a difficult situation for you, I'm sure, but things seem to be going to plan."

"Everyone's been telling me that. What is the plan, exactly? Capture the island, perfect that maniac's research, and then what?" she said, unable to disguise her bitterness. "I always liked to think there was some goal, some justification that made it all worthwhile." She shrugged, drained her glass, and pushed it away. "Now that I'm here all I see is one group of power hungry fools conspiring against another. Why even bother?"

Mirzin listened and didn't immediately answer. "I thought the same thing, you know?" he said, waving at the surroundings and the door. "I grew up around here. Kasin district by the coast. Childhood of poverty and misery gives you good reason to think that way, especially when you look up from the pile of shit you live in and see that bloody command centre." Again his cheerfulness seemed to fade like it had never been there.

"So what changed your mind? Still looks like a shithole to me the second you leave the command centre," she said, resisting the urge to mock him.

"I learned why things are as they are. I studied economic theory, I made friends in the highest and lowest places, and I landed this position. Seemed that way to me too; all we do is cause more misery." The waitress returned and Regina refused a refill, but Mirzin took her glass for himself and drained both.

He rubbed his even more bloodshot eyes and looked back up at her. "You're not obligated to believe me, but I think Royce has a plan. He's not like the others, Hereston and the rest. And definitely not the fucking government, every last one of them paid off by someone or other."

She watched, still silent. She'd often found men most responsive (especially half-drunk nostalgic men) when allowed to ramble uninterrupted.

"One day he's going to make a move, it's the only thing he can do. I'll be there then, and then we'll pay it all back in full. You can be a part of it, you know? All of us, even that fucking Kirk if he sees sense."

Finally he had her attention in full. Certainly what he was saying interested her, but it could easily just be the drunken wishes of a bitter man. "What do you mean, if Kirk sees sense?"

He looked up, eyes slowly focusing. "He's been locked up ever since you brought him back, but he refuses to speak. Don't think I ought to say anything more than that."

She didn't bother asking him anything else. They sat there for nearly another hour, but as far as she could tell the man hadn't eaten or slept for nearly a day and the fatigue was catching up with him. She looked around for the waitress and found her arguing with two of the fighting men, the third having been kicked to the floor.

"Excuse me; do you know a place I can take him for the night? A rented room would be fine," she asked, drawing a filthy look from one of the men and a tired one from the miserable waitress.

"We rent rooms, but not to Alvernian officers. I'm sorry," she said, shrugging apologetically. "You can try the Stone Inn, go up the street from here and follow the left road until you see the sign." That said she turned back to the men and insisted they leave. They refused, but a bouncer with muscles to put Gail to shame came over and they reconsidered and left peacefully.

"Come on Mirzin, don't be so pathetic. Get up and let's go," she snapped, returning to the table and finding him resting his head on its formerly clean surface.

He rose reluctantly and she supported him out the door, complaining bitterly to herself about people who don't know their limits. And suppose if he was called back in an emergency? Drinking in illegal pubs isn't much of a reason for lateness.

The streets were dark, only lit by the odd weak lamppost. Her own hotel was somewhere in the same district, she vaguely recalled. Or perhaps it was the district next to it. Tiredness was beginning to creep in, but she immediately snapped out of it upon hearing gunshots several streets down.

She threw Mirzin down in a side alley and listened intently. After a short reprieve more shots were fired in the same area, one burst and then another.

"We don't want to be here," mumbled Mirzin as he slowly got to his feet. She ignored him and continued listening, one hand on the pistol concealed under her uniform. More shots, and footsteps approaching on the other side of the street. She felt a firm hand pull her into the alley, and Mirzin gestured at her to remain completely silent.

They watched as four men ran up the other side of the street, two armed with rifles, one with a submachine gun and the last with a pistol. As they passed she drew her pistol and waited, but they remained unnoticed.

"This isn't good. We need to get out of here now, or it's going to get worse," Mirzin whispered, pulling her further back and turning. The alley was completely dark, but seemed the only alternative to braving the streets.

"What the hell's going on out there?" she asked, following him down a left turn and then a right.

"Not sure. Sounds like they attacked the government storehouses, just when I was finally getting some rest."

"Who are 'they'?" she asked, listening to the sound of an alarm in the distance.

"Revolutionaries, maybe. Anti-government insurgents might have done it too, usually they're hired men. Lots of people with the guns and motivation to steal from a government storehouse, to be honest," he replied as they turned onto a small brick road. Gunfire could still be heard, but it was further in the distance as they moved through the city. He sank down against a stone wall and rubbed his head, clearly in pain.

"I'm taking you back to the command centre. You can sleep on a bench if you have to, but clearly it's not safe out here," Regina said to him, her tone leaving no room for argument.

"No, it isn't. Best get off the streets if you're smart," said a voice from down the street. She looked over and saw two men, instantly recognising them as the fighters from the pub. The larger of the two was in front, and his comment clearly wasn't intended as friendly advice. The man behind was holding a pistol at his side, half concealed in the dim light of a failing street lamp.

She smiled brightly at them. "We'll do just that. Never knew this place was so dangerous when they asked me to do their admin work here." Mirzin leaned on the wall, again looking barely conscious, but he met her gaze for a brief second.

The first man laughed, but there was no warmth in it. "Everywhere's dangerous, lady. But you're out of luck. Government officials are always worth a good ransom, and I've seen that drunk before with the kind of scum who pay the real money." He turned his head in thought. "But maybe we'll keep you both for a while as our guests, what do you say? This way, unless you'd like to make it difficult," he said, gesturing at them to follow. His companion flashed his pistol, but they didn't seem to expect much resistance.

Regina threw the assistant's arm over her shoulder and helped him forward. "You'll regret this," she spat at the man as they approached.

He laughed at that. "Not nearly as much as you'll regret leaving the house this morning after a few days with us." There wasn't a trace of humour in his eyes to match the laughter.

She reached where he was standing. Mirzin turned and threw up, narrowly avoiding the kidnapper's boots. He scowled and stepped back, and Regina threw Mirzin at the man; they collapsed into a heap of limbs. The shooter raised his pistol in a second, but she seized his arm and pulled it down with a crunch. The gun fell to the ground and the man screamed in agony, the pale white bone sticking out of his lower arm.

Mirzin managed to hold the other man to the floor despite his state, and Regina seized the fallen gun and shot the gunman through the head. She turned to do the same to the other when Mirzin protested, waving his arms weakly.

"Wait, wait," he cried, and the man stopped struggling, seizing onto the small hope he'd been given.

"Don't get in the way, you idiot," she snapped.

"You're worse than dead, both of you. You think Kosra's going to let you kill his men and get away with it?" spat their captive in apparent anger, but his shaking hands and the slight quiver in his voice gave away his fright.

"Who? Never mind, not really interested," she replied, raising the pistol.

Again Mirzin interrupted. "Kosra runs a pro-Borginian militia. If we take this guy back alive at a time like this it could make all the difference."

It was against her better judgement, but she ultimately agreed and took the man back at gunpoint. The first armed patrol they passed, one stationed at the end of a prominent street in light of the attack, questioned them and gave them an escort to the command centre immediately upon hearing their commander's name. The time, Regina realised, was nearing midnight as they approached one of the secondary entrances past an anti-air emplacement. The heavy gates opened as they approached and four armoured trucks exited as their escort drove into the cavernous supply tunnels under the wall of the command centre.

As predicted, the man was of particular interest to the officers, though only Pretsin remained of the five stationed there. The lower levels of the command centre were especially busy, but the prisoner was taken away by stern-faced guards and Mirzin was taken to the barracks.

Regina sat in the empty office, leaning back in the antique wooden chair by her desk. The room was dark, only a pale stream of moonlight and a small lamp on the wall next to the door on the side wall provided any light. A brass plate on the door marked 'Col. Anton Royce' gleamed in the light, and that was the man she was there to see. Pretsin left with barely a word shortly after she arrived.

The main doors opened and Anton Royce stepped through. She rose and gave the appropriate salute, but he took a seat opposite her, clearly irritated.

"Difficult night for all of us, it seems," he said, watching her from across the desk. He waved her off when she attempted to speak. "I've heard the details from my assistant. I could reprimand you for being at such an establishment, especially in uniform, but that seems a minor detail. You should know the western coastal districts are popular with dissidents and military officials are, on occasion, shot dead in the street."

"Anyway," he continued, "I'm here for a different reason. We've received an update from Ibis Island, though I've chosen not to release it generally at this time."

She waited, watching his body language and his choice of words. Mirzin's approval of the man surprised her, considering the other details he revealed. Perhaps there was more to him than she thought.

"The facility was more secure than they'd anticipated, but your friend managed to restore access to all but the generator itself. The lieutenant colonel assures me it's a temporary setback. They've secured the facility itself, but the forest is still full of those fascinating creatures. Borginian scouts have landed, but I don't expect they'll survive long."

"Sounds like good news to me, sir. Why not release it?"

He leaned forward, eyes glancing at the door. "You understand, I presume, that the Third Energy is the objective here. The opportunity is remarkably useful if I simply intended to antagonise the Borginians, but there's nothing to be gained by doing that. Gail tells me you're reliable, and I have little choice but to believe him."

He paused for a brief moment. "I need you to break Edward Kirk. The man refuses to cooperate, and we can only hold the island for so long without knowing how to operate his experimental generator."

"He's in the city?"

Royce laughed, sharp and bitter. "You think I'd let them snatch my prize away? I suppose you don't understand the politics. Rest assured that Hereson and his cronies aren't in a position to bother us." He was still watching her carefully, and for a moment she had the distinct impression he was testing her responses. Exactly what he wanted was difficult to say, and that made her uneasy. "For it is _us_. The state military is not a single entity, and you must take care outside the company of those proven to be trustworthy. But the immediate problems must be addressed in any case."

What have I got myself into, Regina wondered. She immediately blamed Gail for being so difficult and secretive. "So, how do you suggest we handle Kirk?"

Royce shrugged. "I'll leave the methods to you. Perhaps you're more qualified to judge that anyway, but you have some history together, some common ground. Insist that I look upon him as a friend, because we once did work together and the troubling mess that led to his dismissal was not my will. He will be allowed to finish his work, and be reinstated into the service under my command. He knows the alternative."

"Kirk despises me. Why would he listen to anything I have to say?"

"You'll need to be interesting. Men like that cannot tolerate dullness, and I say that as one of those men myself. As for suggestions? Anything that might work is sanctioned. Befriend him, bribe him, threaten him, inspire him with visions of the glory of his completed work and the world we can build together. Seduce him if you must, for I know he's not as immune to women as he acts," Royce said, almost in a frenzy. "The essential thing is that it be done, and done quickly. Anders tells me to torture him, but for all her charms that woman has no skill with people."

"Some of those suggestions are more appealing than others, sir,' she replied, looking back at the clock as it approached one in the morning.

"Isn't that always so? Make no mistake; he must be on our side. I'll have someone take you to him tomorrow morning."

"He's not in the command centre?"

Again he laughed as if she'd said something outrageous. "No, he's in one of my own facilities guarded by those I can trust. Leadership really is a vicious game."

A sharp knock rang out through the room. Royce nodded at her to open it, and she did. A guardsman with a rifle entered and whispered something in the Colonel's ear before taking up a position by the side wall. The look on his face indicated trouble. She was sure she saw a tall, muscular, blonde man in the shadows outside.

"Trouble, sir?"

"Another armoury's been attacked on the south side of the city. Eight soldiers dead. That man you brought in may be more useful than you thought," he said while heading for the door. He looked over his shoulder at her. "Get some sleep, Lieutenant. You'll need to be at your best tomorrow."

The door closed behind him and she collapsed back into the seat. It'd barely been two weeks since they returned from Ibis Island and Rick was in a warzone, Gail had vanished, Kirk was rotting in a dungeon, and she'd just finished getting personal orders from a rather strange colonel, along with a distinct impression that all was not well in Alvernia.

Well, she thought, I can be sure of one thing. I'm not seducing that bastard just to get him out of jail, no matter how nicely Royce asks.


	6. Chapter 6

The night was warm, the air humid, and the sky promised a summer storm before morning. Ibis Island was far enough south that it enjoyed frequent thunderstorms and even the occasional cyclone. None of this was particularly evident or important to Rick and his fellow officers deep under the island's only significant building, the Borginian Third Energy research facility.

Only a few days before the order had finally been given. Rick had watched from the sidelines as Dylan, his friend of only a few hours took a team and four helicopters, dropping into the facility much as he Regina and Gail had done only a few weeks prior. He could see from the heavy weapons and thick armour the men carried that they were far better suited to clearing the facility than his team had been, and his judgment was proven true when they reported in several hours later.

The research facility, once so pristine and sterile, was now filled with rotting corpses and half-starved beasts, all of which were immediately killed on the orders of his commander. The rest of the fleet moved in after that, and Rick took his first step back on the soil of that miserable place surrounded by people he'd never even have been allowed to meet a month before. Some consolation, but he'd hoped his transfer out of espionage meant he could forget all about Ibis Island and its horrors.

It hadn't been easy for him to return there. Walk the same halls he'd once had to scramble through like a rat, barely escaping with his life from the beasts infesting the deserted building. Now they were expected to hold it and even live in it. There was hardly enough room for every man they'd brought, so the once deserted halls were full of soldiers, the corpses removed, and the facility completely secured. The defences had been repaired and more of their own were brought from the ships, though most of the soldiers remained offshore. The island's considerable defensive emplacements were turned against their creators. Their progress was remarkable, and Rick knew how difficult it would be to attack the facility directly.

Still, there were always problems. Every access point to floor B2 had been sealed by automatic security before their arrival and refused to open. Accessing what lay on that floor was the entire point of the mission, and nothing they'd found would open the heavy security barriers that blocked their way. Despite his considerable skill the generator itself was still inaccessible, but he'd found a way to bypass the security on the laboratory section of the floor. That problem was the one he was working on when a heavy storm began above, but there was no room for nature deep in the metallic halls of the facility and he wasn't even aware that the sun had set.

He looked up from the many screens in the control room on floor B3 and sighed, running his hands through his short black hair in frustration. It was as if the security controls weren't even connected to the main system, but how could he explain that and not look like a failure? It was only reasonable to assume the best security for the most important area in the facility would be hard to crack, but it still seemed like something was missing.

The main door opened with a long groan of its motor and he jumped in surprise. The total destruction of the large size cargo elevator during their earlier mission meant the floor was only accessible through a tiny personnel elevator or the underground port. As a result, only those with business or rank were allowed down to B3, and the silence reminded him far too much of his last visit to the place.

"Any progress?" the intruder asked, and he turned around to see Dylan leaning on the electronic display table in the centre of the room.

Despite his frustration he couldn't help but smile. "None at all since opening the labs up. Something's really wrong with this, I'm telling you," he said, turning back in his chair to look at his friend.

Dylan looked puzzled, but stepped up to the screens to take a look. "Doesn't mean much to me. What's wrong with it?" he asked, taking the seat next to him.

"Well, it's just that the system I'm trying to deactivate doesn't seem to exist, and it wasn't even triggered by the time we left the first time. I don't know how it was activated or why it's blocked those doors but no others."

Dylan looked at the screen again and shook his head, face bright green from the screen's reflection. "Okay, so it's unusual. You sure you never saw anything like it anywhere else?"

"Only once. Two of the other agents almost caught up with Kirk and he sealed them into a room using a similar system."

"How?"

"Triggered it from his personal lab on a time delay was my guess."

"And if that's the same thing that's been done here?"

Rick stretched and leaned back. "They bypassed it manually from the inside. Looks like they built in physical overrides so people didn't starve to death," he said, thinking back to the setup in the simulation labs. "Clearly it was designed to keep people out but not in. Kirk probably just wanted to buy enough time to escape, but this is different. Could have been triggered automatically, or by him to protect his work, or even remotely in a worst case scenario."

"That's not good news, speaking as the guy they'll send out for the first attack," Dylan said, a grimace on his otherwise pleasant face.

Rick watched the other man as he turned back to the guardsman stationed in the room and gestured at him to wait outside.

"The Borginian fleet's within a few hours of here. They've stopped, but who knows what's next. There's been some kind of attack on a bunch of military and government buildings under both western and southern command's watch, and the rumour is that Kirk's not cooperating." He raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I'm just saying, this is not how you want to start a high risk operation."

"If it was up to me we'd blow this place up and get out of here,' Rick said, his fist curled in frustration.

He turned back to the screen, reconsidered, and shut the whole thing off. "I can't work like this. Maybe I'll go take another look at the schematics later, but I just need a break."

Dylan threw his arm around Rick's shoulder. "Let's get out of here for a while. I don't think we'll see much of each other once the Borginians get sick of waiting around out there," he said, pulling Rick up and opening the door.

They left the cramped and dimly lit control room for the cavernous carrying out room. Two guards were posted, one at the control room entrance and the other at the opposite hall. The main generator and elevator were completely destroyed, as was the main cargo door. A faint smell of burnt rubber and gasoline lingered despite their cleanup attempts, but the backup generators were keeping the facility powered. Unfortunately the facility only had fuel reserves for a few weeks without the main generator to compensate. Several private tents had been erected for the personnel stationed on B3 as they became increasingly desperate for space, but most of the floor was as empty as it had been on his last visit.

"So, alcohol's banned and there's no other entertainment here. What's the plan?"

"Some fresh air. I've been down here half an hour and even that's too much. Never did like all this waiting around."

So Rick indulged him. They left the transport halls for the deceptively named rest station, a reception area for the underground port still covered in dried blood the cleaning teams couldn't fully remove. The elevator was guarded by a heavily armoured woman holding a submachine gun. Dylan nodded in greeting, and only then did Rick notice the TRAT insignia on the navy blue armour. They emerged on the first floor and had to take a moment to adjust to the sheer amount of people in the cramped elevator hall.

Dylan muttered something in his ear, but he couldn't make out what through the noise. They continued through the building, slowed by the equipment and people sprawled throughout the halls, eventually making their way to the second floor balcony. One of the medical staff and a female soldier were already at the far end near a steel barricade but they fell silent as soon as the two men approached. A large bolt of lightning hit the ocean as they watched, illuminating the entire landscape for a brief second.

"This place is amazing, you know?" Dylan said as he leaned on the railing. The balcony was one of the few areas to have been repaired, its quick access to the communication centre judged too valuable to ignore.

Rick turned to him in disbelief. "You're joking. This place is a nightmare."

"I thought you'd see it more than anyone. Back in Alvernia everything's made from stone and brick, and there's poverty everywhere. The technology here is amazing. They actually brought those creatures here from another time? Incredible."

Another flash of lightning lit the building, but the air was completely calm. "Don't give them too much credit; it was completely unintentional." Rick said, shrugging in feigned disinterest.

Dylan continued anyway, completely undeterred. "Still, it makes me think. What else do they have that we don't? All this fighting and we're never any better off."

Rick watched the two on the other end as they looked out at the storm, arms wrapped around each other. "The way you speak, I wonder why you joined the military."

His friend went quiet for a moment, and Rick realised he'd asked a difficult question. "Where I come from is poor. And I mean really, genuinely poor. Nobody had anything growing up and we never expected to get anything. I joined a gang in my teens out of necessity, but the gangs back home are so dangerous they run the place. My family didn't like it, but I told myself I did it to keep them safe. No armed officials keeping order there like in the command cities."

"What changed?" Rick asked, turning to look directly at the other man as he spoke.

"The things we did were terrible," he said, voice barely audible. "The thing is, I was good at it. Violence, extortion, intimidation – anything. After a while I became important enough to get noticed and one of our rivals…" he continued before breaking off and turning away. Rick waited in respect for the man. Many he knew came from unpleasant backgrounds.

"Let's just say I joined up to redeem myself. To use my skills for something better than pointless violence. I can't go home, but I had to know if I could be something other than what I was," he finished as he turned back. Rick could say nothing to that, but he hoped his sympathy was worth something.

"And you? Why did you condemn yourself to the military? A man with your skills could do anything," he asked. The lovers heard their raised voices and left, clearly irritated. The door slammed behind them as Dylan watched expectantly.

"I could've gone into tech research, maybe,' he agreed, looking back at the view. "But I didn't like the way our country was run. Corruption, stagnation, not to mention the constant inequality. Nobody's really content; nobody really knows what to do about it.s I tried protesting and got nowhere. Eventually I wound up in the military like everyone else, but in espionage hoping to do some good. It didn't really work out."

"But you're still here. Can't have been too bad."

"Nowhere else to go," he replied before pausing. "No, it was because of my team. I felt like I belonged to something for once. Couldn't change the world, but I could at least do that. It's never really been enough."

"None of us seem to come from happy backgrounds, you notice that? I was born in shit and you were born dissatisfied. And here we are trying to make something out of it like we can change anything."

They fell silent, both men contemplating their own thoughts and the brief reprieve they'd found. More lightning flashed in the sky, two thick bolts striking the nearby ocean.

Rick watched as Dylan leaned closer into the railing, eyes fixed on the distant shore. He turned to ask what he'd seen, but Dylan's hand shot up and gestured at him to remain silent. He shrugged and took the hint, looking out to the ocean and seeing nothing.

Another flash of lightning, but only a brief one, illuminated the western coast. "There's someone down there," Dylan murmured, looking briefly over at Rick, expression completely changed.

After another half minute the lightning returned and Rick realised for himself their danger. From their position two small ships could be seen on the shore. Without the intensity of the lightning they'd be impossible to see, and even then were concealed by the trees. It seemed to him that there was movement in the same area.

"The radars would've picked up any movement an hour before they got anywhere near here, there's no way," he said, looking over at the soldier sceptically.

"Yeah, that's what I thought too. But you were just saying this base's security isn't behaving the way it should, right?"

Rick watched him for a moment, but he knew the man meant every word he said. And why not when Rick, the technical officer, had suggested it only a few minutes before?"

"We need to raise an alarm and contact the commander. This is either nothing at all, or they could have some real surprises waiting for us," Dylan said, his firm voice leaving no room for argument, and without another word he turned and ran for the elevators, speaking into his wrist communicator as he went.

Rick deferred to the expert, catching up with the much faster man as he reached the main staircase to the first floor, nearly knocking over a half-asleep logistics worker as he jumped over the mess scattered on the second floor hall.

"… possible intruders on the western shore, sir, we need to alert the men immediately."

He reached the first floor just behind Dylan, the guards at the main entrance watching with interest.

"Your hand-picked technical officer disagrees, sir," Dylan snapped into the communicator.

Rick looked around the room. It would be possible to take it by surprise, but only if the intruders could avoid alerting the main force. Once taken the facility's security measures made it extremely difficult to seize conventionally. He turned to one of the guards. "We need to find the lieutenant colonel immediately."

The man's face showed curiosity, but he restrained it. "Try the strategy room, sir. I saw two of the other officers headed that way."

He nodded his appreciation and gestured at the TRAT officer to follow him. They passed through the security checkpoint at the western exit and were escorted to the strategy room immediately by two more of Dylan's TRAT soldiers.

The strategy room was built as a military command centre by the Borginian military and was still covered in their insignia. It was well protected by laser grids, security checkpoints, and solid doors, but the true defence came from the many soldiers positioned in the outside halls. Properly positioned, even Rick saw they'd be able to hold against far greater numbers.

They found the lieutenant colonel and three of her men sitting around the centre display table in the strategy room. More men were operating the terminals and other were relaying orders through the internal communication systems.

"Well?" she asked as they approached, looking directly at Rick. "Is Morton's evaluation correct?"

He stopped on the other side of the desk, all four of them watching him with interest.

"It's possible, sir. There are several security systems which cannot be accessed by the main controls. The emergency shutters are controlled from a different system on floor B2 than they are here, and that's our issue. The Borginians are careful, almost excessively so. Each area's security systems are wired separately, but you'd think the emergency security controls would show up somewhere, otherwise they'd be impossible to unlock once activated."

She glanced at a man barely older than thirty with greying hair and an unpleasant smile on her right as he spoke to the men stationed in the outdoor control room. "Are you suggesting a remote link or sabotage?"

He shrugged. "Either or both. The Borginians are just better at this than we are. Their technology is more advanced and they're more cautious. I think I can figure out what they're doing, but right now we've got to put the base on alert."

"I appreciate the honesty. It's rare for anyone to admit our nation's failings so openly. I'll trust your evaluation and send for additional technical experts." She turned back to the prematurely grey man on her right. "I believe we have at least two Borginian deserters who may be useful, is that correct, Harper?

"Two with appropriate experience, yes,' Harper replied, looking up at Rick but ignoring Dylan completely.

"Send for them. Wait, hold that until we know who else we need to replace, if there is indeed a battle."

Dylan broke in, having waited as long as he was able. "This can wait. We need to put the base on a full alert _now_; if they were at the shore then they could easily have reached the western walls by now."

"It's already been done," she replied, standing and looking at the map of the facility with the positions of the security forces marked on it in real time. "I've ordered the men to take positions with the utmost silence. Snipers are taking positions, mounted machine guns have been manned, and the security control rooms are all staffed. Reinforcements are deploying from the fleet as we speak."

"That's not enough. Half this place is still under repair, have you forgotten that massive hole in the heliport wall? Or the eastern part of the facility, judged by your own men as near indefensible?" Dylan asked, becoming increasing frantic. Harper watched with interest, eyes now fixed on the TRAT officer.

"I need no reminders from you, Lieutenant," she replied, cold as ever. "Send two TRAT squads east, one to the heliport, the other to the second entrance. Take your own men and hold the entrance hall, deploy the rest as you see him other than seventh squad. Harper, send a message to the communication area. Borginian scouts spotted on island, all facility other than experimental generator accessible, problem likely to be resolved shortly. Full attack likely within the next few days. Inform the colonel immediately."

They both saluted, Dylan sharing a meaningful glance with Rick before he slammed the door behind him.

"Levin, take command on floor B2, hold all the entrances. This may be a ploy to access the generator," Anders ordered, the middle-aged man to her left rising to his feet and leaving with a nod to one of the guardsmen at the door.

She took her seat again and watched the moving dots on the map. He remained still, never sure how to act around Anders. She seemed to dislike the formality required when speaking among officers, but wasn't close to any of her subordinates either. He knew Harper followed her like a shadow, but they didn't seem particularly close. So they sat there in silence for a moment, and he watched as over twenty red dots converged on the heliport, ten of them the crimson assigned to TRAT soldiers. As far as he could tell each entrance was covered adequately. It still felt unsafe, but the sterile, lifeless halls of the facility had felt so from the moment he first saw them.

She looked up as if she'd forgotten he was there. "You'd best stay here, I think. Take the console in the corner and monitor the security systems on this floor. Inform me of any –"she began before cutting off. The lights flickered briefly and the entire facility shook, knocking Rick off his feet and smashing his jaw into the hard metal table. He heard the unmistakable sounds of an explosion on the east side of the facility and his mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood. The facility's automatic alarm system activated and the mounted screen above switched to a view of the heliport. Two guards armed with automatic rifles burst into the room, but Anders seemed undisturbed and sent them off.

He rose to his feet with some difficulty, but remained there only for a moment before collapsing into a seat. The image on the screen showed the hastily repaired heliport wall had been blown apart. Thick columns of smoke rose from the rubble and there was fire everywhere. Many of the soldiers stationed there weren't moving, and he saw one man leaning against a wall holding the upper part of his leg, the rest having been blown clean off. Another corpse was missing most of its lower body, the heliport markings covered in blood and gore. The remaining men were regrouping by a half ruined barricade near the hangar when four armoured troops poured through the wall and shot all but those behind the sandbags. He checked the centre display and saw the TRAT squad approaching from the north, but they would have to funnel through a tight passage to reinforce the men already there.

"Send twelfth squad to reinforce the men at the hangar. Seal all non-essential doors, particularly those on the far side of this floor," Anders ordered, the communications officers sending each command through as she spoke. A large group of dots in the administration offices began moving towards the entrance hall. The crimson markers poured into the heliport and Rick looked back at the screen. Five heavily armoured men took positions behind the rubble of the concrete wall and began exchanging shots with the intruders.

She turned back to Rick, eyes on the screen behind him. "Seal the administration level, we don't have the men to hold it."

He hesitated, hands on the keyboard and eyes on her. "That'll completely isolate the squad by the backup generator," he objected. One of the female communications officers looked alarmed by his tone, but he didn't care about that.

"You'll do as ordered. If the offices fall we'll be fighting in the halls," she snapped, turning back to receive another update. Her cold tone and colder eyes left no room for argument.

Despite his better judgment he complied, turning back to the console and activating the same defensive protocol he was struggling with below. His display showed thick anti-intruder plates sliding down to cover the doors. If she was wrong he'd just condemned twelve people to death.

For a time they worked methodically, the officers relaying information to the lieutenant colonel and her sending orders back to the field officers. The TRAT reinforcements held at the heliport for a time before being pushed back into the hangar, but suffered relatively few losses.

He heard the sounds of gunfire faintly in the distance. Everyone in the room turned in alarm, but it fell off for a moment. The fighting returned and at the sound of one of their mounted machine guns firing Rick felt the adrenaline hit his veins. Could they really be at the main gate?

But they _were _at the main gate. Before long the sounds of rifles exchanging fire could be heard even from the strategy room, and then the doors burst open. One of Dylan's soldiers entered, her navy vest stained with blood. At first he assumed it was an enemy's, but he saw the stain spreading and the trouble she was having her left arm, rifle hanging limply at her side.

"Corporal Lowry reporting, sir. The main gate is under attack; Lieutenant Morton requests reinforcements and sniper cover," she said, gasping for a moment while trying not to lean on the wall for support.

"Noted. Get yourself to the medical rooms." She turned back to the communications staff. "Contact Harper, he's to lead fifth squad to the main entrance and reinforce the outer defences."

The blonde woman on the intercom frowned and looked at the indicator lights on its control panel. "Sir, no response from Major Harper."

"Try again," she replied, looking back to the real time map of the facility. The intruders at the heliport had been pushed back out of the hangar, but more were gaining ground at the main entrance. Rick could hear two mounted machine guns firing in bursts outside.

"Still no response," she replied, the slightest hint of fear in her young voice.

He inhaled sharply and ran over to the lieutenant colonel, pushing past the armed guard in his haste.

"I think this is a feint, sir. Our men are concentrated in the north-east section of the ground floor, but why would so few men attack us there? We've got the numbers and the cover,' he said, rushing to get the point across.

"Perhaps you were worth bringing. It had occurred to me," Anders replied, brushing a stray lock of blonde hair out of her eyes in irritation. "If Harper hasn't replied by now he's likely dead."

She looked around at the remaining staff. "I can't reassign any more squads while most of our force is still offshore. Not if we're to keep the entire facility covered."

He saw his chance. "I've been doing this kind of work for years. I'll find your man and secure the second floor, sir."

For a moment she was silent. Were people so young usually promoted so quickly, he wondered? She was clearly capable, but many of Royce's staff didn't meet the standard image for their positions.

"Very well. You'll pass through the entrance hall; the other elevator is still broken. Take two of Morton's men. Find Major Harper, kill any Borginian troops you find, but don't die. The colonel didn't go through the trouble of recruiting you just so you could go and get killed on your first assignment."

That was everything he wanted to hear. When he arrived in the entrance hall he was greeted by the sight of two TRAT soldiers on each side of the main door covering a mounted machine gun firing into the night. A corpse lay in the corner, the dead man's blood leaving a trail from the door to his resting place. At his request one of the men summoned Dylan, who was covered in sweat and breathing heavily. More soldiers waited on the balcony above, but the exterior defence was holding, he was told.

"Rick, what are you doing out here? Get behind that barricade," he said as he ducked past the main doors.

"Looks like this attack's just a feint," he shouted, trying to be heard past the shooting. "We've lost contact with the second floor, and I need soldiers to hold it."

He nodded, not wasting any time. "I'll take two men and come with you; they're pulling back out the front," Dylan said, pointing back out the main doors before ordering two of his soldiers to join them. Rick took one of the many rifles behind the barricade and went up the stairs with them.

He had intended to do things quietly, but there was chance of that when his allies were carrying shotguns and covered in body armour. They smashed through to the second floor and found its main hall completely deserted. The two men posted there had disappeared entirely. Dylan and his troops cleared both the ruined admin office and the lounge within moments, reporting nobody at all and no signs of a struggle. When they returned to the main hall one of the men from the indoor balcony burst through the door looking frantic.

"Lieutenant Morton, sir, two more casualties. We've had to abandon the centre mounted gun, their sniper killed the gunner."

Dylan paused and looked to Rick. "I have to go back, can you handle this?"

He smiled at that. "What do you mean? Of course," he said before looking back at the two masked soldiers. "All clear, let's check the balcony."

They found the outdoor balcony silent and dimly lit, slowly leaving the safety of the facility and spreading out behind the vents. And then he saw the corpse sprawled against the wall. The man had been shot through the head, the concrete wall behind him smeared with gore. Another lay dead at the other end of the balcony in a pool of his own blood, and a third was sprawled under one of the mounted lights, more blood soaked into the concrete under him.

Realising instantly what must have happened he fell to the floor and rolled behind one of the barricades, yelling at the others to do the same. The man behind the vents dove around the side instantly, but the other was exposed on the balcony. He ran for cover but they heard a muffled scream as a bullet tore through his side. He watched, completely helpless, as the man collapsed to the floor shaking uncontrollably.

He made eye contact with the other man, hoping he'd know what to do. Rick was only a few short steps from the communication room. The soldier thrust his rifle out through the gap in the vents and fired, spraying the forest with bullets and, with any luck, drawing the sniper's attention. He ran faster than he ever had in his life, throwing the metal door open and jumping inside.

But the jump slammed him into someone, both of them falling to the floor with a groan of pain. The rifle fell behind him, but Rick looked up first and saw Harper leaning against the communication console. "Kill her before she gets up, she's one of them,' the man gasped. He tried to rise but a sharp pain in Rick's stomach threw him back to the floor winded and close to vomiting. The intruder was a woman in a speckled tan and dark green uniform, but that was all he saw before she kicked him down and reached for a pistol laying near the broken elevator.

She was quite attractive, he thought. Shoulder length black hair, striking face, and a gun aimed at his chest. Combat really wasn't his speciality, but he'd done all he could. The world seemed to fade before him as he realised there was nothing he could do to save himself. She pulled the trigger, but Harper dove forward despite his injuries and threw her aim off. The bullet hit a screen and showered Rick with glass, but he seized the opportunity and kicked her back into the wall. She dropped the gun, reached in the dark for something on the console beside her and grabbed a small black object with her other hand, clearly a detonator, and pulled a trigger on its side with a faint smirk.

The first thing he felt was the heat, but within a second everything and everyone in the room was violently thrown back by as the entire building shook. The noise was so terribly loud he covered his ears from the pain but even that did nothing, and the entire world became a blur. Bits of rubble from the ceiling collapsed onto them, but the roof didn't cave in despite that. Outside he could see the night sky set alight by the explosion for the briefest second before the flare faded.

It soon ended, the screens in the room dim and the lights operating on emergency power systems. Only one remained lit, and it displayed a message that made his stomach drop. 'Antenna complex destroyed'. Harper lay unmoving under the console, blood leaking from his mouth and smeared on the floor underneath him. The intruder was getting to her feet, but he rose first, seizing the fallen pistol and falling back on the desk with it aimed at her unarmoured chest. She rose anyway, but slowly and predictably.

His finger was on the trigger, and he knew what she'd done would set them back even more than he could guess. How many more places had been targeted? They'd underestimated their enemy severely and paid the price for it a dozen times over. He knew he should shoot her. That he'd be expected to do so. But he hesitated as he always had when called upon to kill.

"Do it," spat Harper from the floor, his grey eyes fixed on Rick.

He hesitated still, and the gun lowered a slight fraction. She leapt forward at incredible speed, clearly sensing weakness, and that made it much easier. He shot the saboteur through the upper leg, sending her back to the floor next to Harper. He held it back up to finish her and failed to do so as he knew was inevitable, instead telling himself she'd be a valuable prisoner. It was, of course, justified by necessity, the need for them to have inside information into the enemy and so on. He knew better, but it would have to do.

The rest of the skirmish didn't last long, ending some time before the sun rose. The assault on the main gates ended with the deaths of most of the attackers and several defenders. Dylan was commended for his strategies and his bravery, leading the counterattack in person more than once. The contents of the hangar were set ablaze while Rick languished in the communications room, the attackers retreating after that success. Many were munitions and had caused a complete evacuation of that sector. Most of the troops initially stationed in that area had been killed, and many more were crippled by the initial explosion and those that followed in the hangar.

The communications complex had been destroyed, and what wasn't destroyed was left completely useless. Much of the second floor was exposed to the open air and heavily burnt; the bomb had set the main hall alight and the fire had spread through the entire level. The other TRAT soldier sent with Rick was found in twelve different places, completely dismembered in the explosion. Major Harper's injuries were mostly superficial, but some were more troubling and he'd been immediately sent to the medical units once the first recovery team reached them.

Rick was more or less unharmed, and he found himself in the main entrance hall with the lieutenant colonel several hours after the battle's end. His prisoner had been sent under heavy guard to floor B3. That and his rescue of Harper had made up for his failure to save the communications equipment to some extent, or so he'd interpreted her response.

"Three sabotage attempts, two successful. Seventeen dead, ten injured. Twenty-nine confirmed kills, ten prisoners," Anders said to Rick and two other officers before running a hand over her tired face.

"You were unprepared," said a middle-aged woman who'd arrived that morning from the fleet.

"No," Anders snapped. "We cannot hold this island indefinitely. This is their territory, their technology. It's a research facility not designed to withstand a siege, and we're not here to hold against one. Deploy the reinforcements as per the original plan, Major. Move the heavy weapons squads into the building, and have the captured Borginian weapons emplacements prepared for activation." She turned and moved away, Rick and the other man following with an unsure glance at each other.

"Without access to the generator or the cooperation of our prisoner, this is going to become problematic. See if the doors can be bypassed, regardless of the methods used," she said to the man beside Rick. "Continue your attempts to break the security system, but collate any information you can on Third Energy. It may be all we can get if things continue to deteriorate," she ordered.

"Uh, Lieutenant Colonel?" the younger man asked, a terribly nervous expression on his face. "Ellison is asking for orders regarding the prisoners. Most are soldiers, but three are espionage agents captured during sabotage attempts."

"The agents could be useful," she said, a thoughtful expression overtaking her usual disinterest. "Lieutenant, I'll have you interrogate the one you captured. She was found with a disc stolen from the databases. Curious, don't you think?"

"And the soldiers?"

She looked back at him. "Execute them. They died in the battle, of course."

He watched, dumbfounded by the callousness of that statement. Seven people's lives judged and extinguished in half a second of thought. She left him to it and he found Dylan sitting outside by the bodies of six of his men.

"All my life I've been watching friends die, and for what?" the TRAT officer murmured, eyes fixed on the body bags. The courtyard was covered in rubble, broken glass, and blood stains, the sky a warm blue as the storm faded into the distance.

"I wish I knew. They lost more than we did, but it looks like they got what they wanted anyway."

Dylan snorted in derision. "Yeah, and someone like me on their side is sitting back and asking the same question." He stood up and threw his rifle over his shoulder. "We survived the first wave, but that's nothing compared to what's coming if we're here much longer. They want that generator? Do absolutely anything you can to make it happen before it comes to that."

He stood back as his friend left. Armed guards patrolled the facility as reinforcements from the fleet poured in, and black smoke still rose from the ruined heliport and the remains of the second floor. I should never have come here, he thought. Gail lived for situations like this, and Regina never let anything bother her. Yet he, the most peaceful of the lot, was sent instead. He'd resolved to do anything he could to limit the suffering people like him caused wherever they went. A fine ideal, but the reality had been quite different. It hadn't ever been much, but it was all he could offer. Or perhaps it was all just a delusion to help him sleep easier.


	7. Chapter 7

A dreadful grind of the door's ancient hinges was the first thing he heard as the uniformed men outside brought in the usual evening meal. One stood in the entrance, a rifle aimed at the prisoner's chest, as the other deposited the plate on a small wooden table leaning against the stone wall of the cell.

"Steak again, how nice," the prisoner said, looking up at the skeletal man before him. "One would almost think I'm being better fed than you." His remarks failed to elicit even the slightest response from the men, and he leaned back against the wall with a dissatisfied sigh. "Really, you don't think the rifle is a bit excessive?"

"Any messages?" asked the man who'd brought in his meal.

"None that you'd deliver. You may leave, soldier," he replied, pulling the table towards his position on the wafer-thin mattress he'd been generously given.

Ordering men to do things they were going to do anyway was pointless, of course, but it had a tendency to make them absolutely furious when you were at their mercy. For a man in Edward Kirk's position there were so few pleasures available that one had to take even the slightest opportunity presented, because after it would only come another twelve hours of staring at a stone wall. In this case it had its intended effect; the soldier scowled at him, spun around, and left as if he were above responding to such a person.

It was an easy mistake to make, Kirk knew. He was absolutely filthy. Once blonde hair completely dishevelled, clothes covered in dust and grime, bandages around his midsection… hardly an intimidating visage.

The steak was quite pleasant, surprisingly enough. Medium-rare as he preferred it, a fine cut with almost no fat, and accompanied by a side of vegetables fried in some sauce he couldn't name. There was a chance that any number of people had spat on it before it arrived, but there was no use worrying about that. It wasn't as if they had a personal grudge against him, and he knew several of the staff (other than, of course, the cell guards) seemed to favour him.

Besides, he considered, nobody feeds good steak to a man condemned to death or life in prison. That'd be terribly wasteful, and Alvernia never had the food to spare for such extravagance unless it was needed for some manipulation or other. And it was needed for exactly that purpose. Since his last meeting with his captor, the frustratingly cryptic Anton Royce, he'd been left in his cell. None of the expected tortures had occurred; he was simply asked with each meal whether he had any messages to send and left to his devices in the small stone room they'd found for him otherwise.

He finished the last piece of the steak, savouring every moment of it in full knowledge it may be the last time he ever tasted something so exquisite, and put the empty plate back on the table. They'd even given him a steak knife, betraying either idiocy or confidence in their security. Perhaps the rifle wasn't so excessive after all.

His cell was cold, his bedding insufficient, and the only furniture the small table, a terribly uncomfortable little chair, and a screen built into the wall. The screen was not under his control, but it would light up once or twice a day to show some piece of news on the state channel that they wanted him to know about.

Left with little to do but think he resigned himself to the next twelve hours of near unbearable dullness. Some time passed, how much was entirely impossible to guess, but he amused himself by scratching out his thoughts on the wall with the steak knife. He'd considered many times accepting the offer, something that even seemed quite generous in his darkest moments. Yet every time that skeletal creature returned he couldn't stomach the thought of bowing and scraping to the scum. No, let it be imprisonment and satisfaction. He was not afraid to suffer, not if the alternative was humiliation and bondage.

The thought of Royce's disdainful sneer deterred him just as much as his pride. The mocking look in his pale eyes when he slammed the door behind him, the constant veiled insults scattered through his speech, and especially his refusal to be straightforward even when asking for Kirk's help.

Yet he had to admit, there had been less suffering than he'd anticipated. Alvernian military prisons had a certain reputation for unpleasantness, though it was difficult to imagine a military prison being anything other than unpleasant. But that was all foolishness. He threw his arms out into the cramped and stagnant air with a short and bitter laugh. The torture had begun the moment he'd arrived. What need was there for the rack and the knife for a man like him? Throw them both away, they were entirely unnecessary.

Soon it had to end, of course. They wanted him to pledge his allegiance to them, and fortunately for him everyone else with any real knowledge of his work (other than Royce himself and a few Borginian officials) had died a miserable death on Ibis Island. He'd even played a small part in that himself. Despicable, he knew, but it really had seemed necessary at the time. Murder (was it murder?) hadn't quite caused the emotional ruination it was famed for. He shrugged to himself. Plenty of time left for that to change.

His thoughts were interrupted as the room filled with blue light and the sound of a woman's voice. Another state address they'd deemed appropriate for his eyes, most likely. They were usually full of lies that even someone as starved of information as he was could see through, but even those were interesting enough.

" … And local prices of grain are expected to rise sharply due to the recent attacks on western storehouses. Trade officials insist the shortage will soon be remedied by increased foreign imports and that the newly proposed security measures will restore confidence to local business within the month," an attractive but completely unmemorable blonde newscaster said in that voice reserved solely for those in her profession.

"We now bring you to an official statement on the matter from the western command centre. Major General James Hereson will address the people first." The image changed, showing a wide shot of an impeccably decorated hall. An older man, perhaps approaching sixty stood at the podium, his impeccable navy blue uniform decorated with many awards and his face showing that stern yet fair expression men of his type loved so much. Other officers stood behind, but the camera focused solely on the leader. The crowd clapped politely as he greeted them, a group of perhaps two hundred under the careful watch of armed officials.

Kirk leaned back on the bed in some surprise. It was, at least to his knowledge, unusual for someone of Hereson's rank to directly speak to the public. The man had certainly never been willing to speak to him. The general filled the first few minutes with the usual pleasantries. Statements glorifying the strength of the nation and the iron will of the people and their leaders, all greeted with the same polite applause.

" … And that is why, dear citizens, such blatant hostility on the part of our enemies cannot be tolerated. They have one goal: our total destruction, and only so for the profit of themselves and their masters. There is no ideology, no grand idea – these men are the vilest sort of criminals," Hereson continued, his firm voice ringing out across the auditorium.

"They have struck, not at the government, not at the military, not at those who can fight back, but at _you_. Your food supplies, your homes, your safety. The freedom for your children to walk the streets of our city without being attacked by thugs, the freedom for you to meet a fellow citizen and not have to question their loyalties."

"And we have had enough. Western command has been authorised to use any means necessary to hunt down and destroy the cowards, and we intend to do so. As we speak our men move on a hideout in the south-western industrial district to confront the villains responsible for the theft of your grain and the destruction of your homes." He paused for a moment, taking a glass of water from an aide.

"For what is the ultimate goal if not peace and stability? They threaten the foundation of our society and must pay the appropriate price for it, must they not? If this challenge is left unanswered, if they are free to steal and kill as they please, then what we have will not be worth saving." He paused again, to a more spirited applause from most of the crowd, though Kirk noted with interest some sections that remained silent.

"Finance Minister Vorman," he turned, gesturing in respect to a tall, wiry man in a well-fitted black suit, "will soon make an address to discuss the government's response to the food shortages, but first, please welcome Colonel Anton Royce; he will explain to you the security measures taking effect as of tonight. Good day to you," Hereson finished, smiling in a reassuring fashion to the crowd before leaving with his entourage close behind.

Kirk leaned in closer at the mention of Royce's name. Could the bastard be sending him a message? If so, then what was it?

Royce rose to his feet, towering over the aide on his right, and stepped up to the podium. The crowd cheered with more enthusiasm than they'd shown for the general and he hadn't even said a word.

"It is a sad day, is it not, when our right to exist, our values as a people are so violently challenged? Attacks by armed insurgents have been growing ever more frequent since their emergence two years ago, and more and more of our people lose their lives to them with each month. Indeed, fourteen soldiers lost their lives defending our city last night. But what of the workers in those warehouses as they burned? What of the office workers in those armouries? The receptionist brutally executed at her desk, the father of two burned to death as he worked to feed the city?" Royce began, his tone filled with outrage and indignation. The crowd responded in kind, jeering at the villains and clapping at the man's outspokenness. His low voice, deep and commanding with just enough empathy, was everything they wanted.

"Are we so cruel as to commit atrocities such as this, do you think? Are human beings so loathsome as to enjoy this work, to do it for something as small as a day's pay?" he asked them, losing the grandiose tone and asking as if he were genuinely curious. The crowd fell silent, all awaiting his next words. Even Kirk found his unconventional approach difficult to look away from.

"I would not like to think so. And here I must respectfully disagree with the distinguished major general. There _is_ an ideology at work here; there is a plan beyond callous opportunism."

"Prove it," shouted a dishevelled man near the front of the crowd. "I lost my house and my son to those fiends, and you want us to sympathise with them?" The guards moved to silence him but Royce stopped them.

"Sympathise? That is for you to decide. But your loss will not go unanswered, and your countrymen will not fail to aid you in your time of need," the colonel replied to more applause.

"I think it is time you understood our enemy more clearly, good people. We do not face a single entity, but several distinct groups using our weakness to strike independently. Two consist of local rebels, one vying for material wealth and control, the other revolutionaries fighting for social change, but I will not speak of them today."

"It has been known for some time that the most dangerous group, one with influence in Merestan and the entire western sector as well as southern command and Polostin by the mountains, has been equipped and financed by an outside entity. Today I will reveal to you the source of this funding, and the entity behind these tragedies."

Well, that'll be sure to make some lives difficult, Kirk thought as he watched. Far more entertaining viewing than rest of the addresses he'd seen, especially when he looked at the nervous expressions on the men behind Royce. Someone was sure to burn for revealing what he suspected was coming.

"Captured enemy operatives have revealed that Kosra's militia, as it is known, is both funded and actively supported by elements of the Borginian government. We now have decisive proof of their attempts to destabilise our nation and their treachery," Royce cried as the crowd erupted. Journalists rushed about, citizens shouted across the room, guards attempted in vain to control them, and many of the officials behind the colonel made a quick exit.

Minister Vorman stood up, hesitated, and then sat back down, but Royce's self-satisfied expression vanished when one of the men in the back stepped forward and whispered something in his ear.

They let a man without a uniform carry a rifle in there? His eyes narrowed as he looked more closely. Short blond hair, cold expression… could it be? The quality was so poor he couldn't say, but then he saw the bandages wrapped around his upper arm. The build and the hair could be coincidental, but this? It had to be the same man who'd hunted him down on Ibis Island. Certainly something worth knowing, he considered as he stood up and stretched, hands nearly touching the ceiling.

The broadcast shut off as abruptly as it had begun; he'd seen everything they'd wanted him to see. But what was the message? He thought of several likely possibilities, but was interrupted by a sharp knock on the rusty door.

"Stand against the back wall," a muffled voice ordered, and he did as commanded. The door groaned as it opened, scraping against the stone floor and filling the air with the sound of creaking hinges.

The intensity of the light outside the cell nearly blinded him, but as he shielded his eyes it became apparent that he had three visitors. The unnaturally thin, grim looking guard holding the key and a pistol, a short, lean man in an officers' uniform of some description, and… but that couldn't be right.

"This is the famous Edward Kirk? Well, famous might not be the right word. We'll leave you to it, but don't take too long," the short man said, his tone light and humorous.

"You talk too much, Mirzin. Make sure we're not disturbed," a dry female voice said, removing any of his doubts. Royce certainly had a sense of humour, having her of all people sent to speak to him. His eyes were well and truly adjusted by then, and he saw her for the first time in… well, he wasn't quite sure. She was tall, quite thin yet not even close to looking fragile, still with the same vivid red hair if a little longer.

The door slammed shut and he remained standing at the far wall, arms crossed and expression blank.

Regina leaned on the wall by the door and stared at him for some time, completely silent.

"What was it you told me?" she asked, held tilted to one side. "You cared about nothing except your experiment?"

He watched, moved to one side and then back. It was a display of discomfort, he knew. "Indeed I did, agent. You disapproved, as I remember it, but we didn't discuss the matter at length. Are you here to do so now?" he asked, allowing a slight smirk to show on his face. It was not natural, but few of his expressions were.

"No," she replied, pulling the wooden seat over with her boot. His eyes glanced over to the steak knife, just within his reach. "You're free to try," she said, quiet and not in the least bit threatened. "But if you're still looking to kill me then I don't think you understand the situation."

"I understand you're here because nothing else they've tried has convinced me to capitulate. I understand the Third Energy is suddenly of great importance, and that every other person who knew of it is rotting in the ground."

She grinned at him as if he'd said something amusing. "When they brought me here I wondered why you'd refuse. I mean, the offer's all you said you wanted, right? But it's simpler than that: you're just holding out for a better deal. Same old amoral piece of shit you always were, right Kirk? And here I was hoping I had you all wrong."

His hand curled into a fist, but he knew that was futile so kicked the flimsy table, snapping one of its legs in half.

"This is why I could never stand people like you," he muttered, running a hand over his filthy face. "So sanctimonious, so hypocritical. I could forgive you if it were merely cynicism, just some act to get what you want however you could, but you're completely genuine, aren't you?" Kirk said, sitting back on the bed as he found himself too fatigued to continue standing.

"Just what are you talking about?" Regina replied, leaning forward to look at him directly. The sarcasm had vanished.

"_'__Don't you see, your grand invention is just another weapon to be misused?'_" he quoted, making full eye contact for the first time. "Only someone in your position could say that in all seriousness and be where you are now."

She fell silent, and he was sure he'd hit a nerve. He shrugged as if it didn't matter to him. "Perhaps the good Colonel doesn't intend to misuse it, what do you think?" His eyes shifted to her uniform. "I was under the impression that lieutenants weren't sent on three man espionage missions. A recent promotion, I assume. It's a very flattering colour, compliments your hair nicely."

"Are you trying to lecture me on ethics? You, of all people?" she said, voice seething with irritation. He found his gaze drawn to her, watching and judging each movement she made.

He laughed. "Why not me? I admit, I did say the lives of every person on that island were entirely inconsequential if only my work could be completed. That is only a shadow of what your masters say to themselves before sending you out to do their killing, and at least it's honest."

Now it was her turn to curl her fist in anger, but he didn't let that deter him. It'd been too long and he was too spiteful to stop there.

"After all," he continued, "you are a professional murderer, are you not? You kill for the state's benefit, and have been so well trained that you can chastise me for creating a weapon one day and then return on another and tell me what I do is acceptable, just not for your enemies? As I said, take that position if you must, but do not pretend to have some ethical high ground. We both abandoned any claim to _that_ a long time ago."

"What do you know that you aren't telling me?" she asked, leaning forward and barely restraining her anger. That she hadn't struck him yet was a source of amazement, but he continued undeterred.

"I understand the allure, you must know. You're closer to the source; perhaps you can use that power for the good of the people. There must be a plan, of course. Surely he'll reveal the details in good time, and until then you can assume the best. Just like on Ibis Island when you were there to rescue me from those _awful_ Borginians."

He stood up again, invigorated by the chance he'd been given. "I suppose you were told why they need my help?" He stopped and laughed again. "No, you weren't told anything. You don't need a reason, because you'll make your own up so you can come in here and moralise to me as if you were any better."

But she raised her hand and he stopped. For the first time he saw the tired expression, the uncertainty. "You're right about one thing. I don't know what they want your research for. I don't even know who 'they' are, or what their plan is - ,"she began, finally showing some emotion before he cut her off.

"And you must have seen the broadcast? Not a very united military, but it looks like your man's the people's favourite. I've known our friend Anton for longer than you have, be sure of that. Whatever he's told you is what he thinks you want to hear. Just what was that show about, anyway? I can't figure it out. Can you?"

Again, Regina remained silent.

"I thought not. But I think you know someone who does know."

"You really are a piece of work, Kirk," she muttered, sitting back down, the anger evaporating before his eyes. "I was here to convince you to join us, and I've just sat here and let you do all the talking."

He opened his mouth again but was cut off. She glanced at the door and leaned in towards him.

"Regardless of your suspicions, the only way you're getting out of here is to accept Royce's offer. He's subtle, and it doesn't look like you've suffered physically despite his impatience." She glanced at his bandages, the remains of the treatment following his last questioning.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Kirk replied, pacing the room in excitement. "He showed me one thing today, and that's disunity. Before long the Borginian conflict will be too much and the rest of them will come for me. Royce is a colonel; his rival's a major general. I can wait."

"You're an arrogant bastard, Kirk. Always so sure you've outsmarted everyone else. This isn't a military prison, this is one of Royce's private facilities in the middle of nowhere. Only his men know about it, and I mean _his _men. Unlike you, he seems to inspire loyalty in his people."

"I see you read those journals too. You'd think researchers of all people might have understood, but of course not," he said, disguising his sudden fear. His plan had been to wait it out until someone else decided he was too valuable to leave in the hands of someone who couldn't get a response. Clearly that had been anticipated.

"If we're to proceed I must know why you are here. What motivates you to convince me to develop the Third Energy for this government if it is indeed just a weapon to be misused?"

They watched each other, shadows cast on the wall by the flickering light. "I'd like to claim there was some grand plan, but there isn't. I'm here because I was asked to be here by a superior officer. What other option is there?"

"But is that how you want to live? Forever following orders; never understanding them? What if there was another way? You are not stupid, you see what he's doing could lead you to the execution ground. And for what?" He stretched his hands out, inviting her to answer.

This was it for him. He'd seen the slightest hint of uncertainty, of dissatisfaction, and that was his only chance. Why she'd allowed him to continue so long was beyond his understanding, but it was fuelled by the same sentiment he'd seen on Ibis Island, surely.

He leaned in closer, as if wary of being heard by the guards outside. "My entire life I have been manipulated and used by men such as these," he said, allowing some genuine emotion to enter his voice even if it was little more than bitterness. "They have taken everything from me again, and again, and I have grown tired of it."

"I know you agree with me. That I've been allowed to speak has proven that. What if we could find out? What if we could take back what they've stolen for themselves?"

She rose and stared at him, at the filthy, deranged prisoner before her, with a thoughtful if cautious expression replacing the guarded, blank, soldier's face. "If you genuinely believe that, you'll agree to work with Royce. He's taken Ibis Island from the Borginians already; all they need is you to work on the generator. You won't get another opportunity."

Kirk's eyes widened in shock, surprised at the boldness of the move. "That does change things. They won't let him keep it for long, not if he doesn't have the support of more men than those he commands already." He rose to his feet, finally seeing the opportunity he needed.

Regina took a step closer and he saw the shotgun strapped to her back for the first time. She began to speak, but stopped inexplicably. He watched and saw she was listening intently for something outside the cell.

And then he heard it too. Faintly in the distance something quite out of the ordinary was happening.

She pulled back from the door, expression and voice totally changed. "We need to go. Now."

"Are you breaking me out of prison? I'm flattered, really."

He felt a firm hand on his arm, and then she pulled him close against her on the wall next to the door Slightly uncomfortable, really, but he found it difficult to protest. And then he realised why, as the commotion outside came within his hearing range. Gunfire in the halls of Royce's private prison was not something he'd expected to hear, but there it was.

The door opened with its usual grind and Regina slammed the intruder to the wall, the shotgun pressed into his stomach.

"Hold it, it's me," he wheezed, clearly in some pain from her rough treatment.

"Mirzin? The fuck's going on out there, who's attacking?" she asked, taking the gun off her ally.

The short man laughed, but it was more deranged than humorous. "We're being raided by the military. The guards are holding them up in the foundry, but you need to go now before they get down here. It won't be long." Edward looked at him more carefully and saw a dark stain spreading down his uniform from the shoulder.

Mirzin pulled away from the door, holding onto it for support. "Take the corridor down, and then go left until you reach the ladder. This place used to be a sewer; you'll find your way out."

She ran after him. "Wait. Come with us. You don't need to die here," she shouted behind him, the sounds of the gunfight even more distinct outside of the cell.

"I have to clean up first or it's all over. Get out of here as fast as you can; I'll try and catch up. If I don't make it, well, do what you like, what's it really matter?" he said, running back toward the fight.

He stared at Regina as she watched the other man leave, entire body tense. As he turned the corner she looked back at him, exhaling in frustration. "Isn't this familiar? Are you coming, or do you want to try your luck with the soldiers?"

It was enlightening, really. She didn't have the time to take him by force and she knew it. More than that, she seemed to be waiting for him to make a free decision. Another burst of gunfire carried down the corridor and he decided. She was his best chance, both for escape and for what he really wanted. He nodded, and they both turned and ran. She checked each corner and crevice in the wall, shotgun in her hands, and he waited behind following every order. Nothing to be gained by pretending he was a soldier.

It didn't take long to reach the ladder. The tunnels were cramped, dark, and often unlit. A man waited there, submachine gun in hand. He watched as they approached, eyes widening when he saw Kirk. Ah, he thought, the ridiculous thin guard again. Shame he wasn't down the other end to get shot.

"Explain yourself immediately," he demanded, attempting to raise the gun but hesitating when he saw the shotgun aimed at his chest.

"We're being attacked from above, can't you tell?" she snapped, barely concealing her anger.

"By who? And why are you –?" he tried to continue before being cut off.

"Shut up and move or we're all dead. Where does this ladder lead?"

"Leads to a manhole in an alley just outside the old ironworks. We caved in all the other exits," he replied, stammering for a brief moment before regaining his composure.

She sent the guard down first; then ordered Kirk to follow. The ladder was old, built from rusty iron handles bolted to the stone walls of the passage. He reached the halfway point when the entire sewer began shaking. Dust fell from the ceiling and he had a terrible feeling the entire place would collapse in on them, but it was not so. The shaking ceased and he reached the bottom, nearly falling until the soldier steadied him. That was almost humiliating, but he let it go as Regina jumped down the last few rungs.

"Well, what a lovely place," she muttered as they continued on. As the man had said above, only one of the three passages was accessible, and it was barely standing. A dim bulb hanging from the ceiling was the only source of light, and it was so poor he found himself stumbling over loose stones. Water dripped from various places, and their shadows were cast on the curved walls as if the passage were filled with demonic beasts.

A few minutes in that foul-smelling cesspit brought them to an exit ladder, but the tunnel continued on beyond that. Regina stood back and gestured to the soldier, giving him the privilege of exiting first. Such a display of trust among allies he thought, smirking as his former captor was forced up the ladder.

A sound of water splashing from the far end reached them as the guard reached the top and opened the manhole, showering them with light. Regina pushed him up the ladder and crouched behind a column, but it was the same man from before. He collapsed in front of her breathing heavily. Even from the ladder Kirk saw the blood stain had spread from his shoulder down the entire left side of his body.

"Up now, all of you. I've set the entire foundry to detonate with the general's men inside. They've killed most of the guards already," he spat, but Regina paused and pulled him to his feet. "Twice now I've had to do this," she said, trying to sound reassuring and failing.

Still, despite the difficulty they all reached the exit alive. Edward looked at his new surroundings and saw to his surprise despite the warning that they were deep in one of Merestan's abandoned industrial zones. Thick columns of smoke rose nearby and he could smell the fire as a gust of wind blew down the alley bringing intense heat with it. Ruined, rusty factories and manufacturing complexes surrounded them; there was no obvious exit and no markings to indicate an escape route.

The soldier waved his submachine gun at them, standing at the far side of the alley. "There's a way through the munitions factory at the back, leads to another underground – "he began before a burst of gunfire ripped through his chest and he collapsed to the floor.

"Down the alley, move in and clean it out," shouted a man around the corner from the shaking body of the soldier. He dived behind a protruding brick column but didn't expect it to do much good. The injured officer collapsed on top of him and he saw he was wearing one of the same communicators the SORT team had used when capturing him. It was glowing bright blue.

He waited there, heart pounding, when he heard all he needed to know. A male voice shouted "Drop your weapon," accompanied by the sound of combat boots on brick. He looked around the side and saw two men in Alvernian uniforms pointing rifles at Regina. Her shotgun was raised, but it would do no good against the two of them.

"You behind the column, come out now or your friend's dead," he ordered, and Kirk did so. There was nothing to be gained by resistance. Still, he left Mirzin in the shadows where he lay, apparently undetected. She hesitated a moment longer as he approached but lowered the weapon until the speaker fell to the floor with a scream, a burst of bullets tearing him apart from behind. The dying guard he so despised had shot the man from the floor, a satisfied smirk on his face before he too was killed as the other man shot executed him on the spot. The soldier turned back and raised the gun again, finger on the trigger, but Kirk had had enough of being captured and treated like cattle. The man's actions showed he considered the ruined researcher no threat at all, though likely he knew who he was. He glanced over at Regina, but there was no message he could send. As he began to speak Kirk seized the rifle and pulled it into the air while he threw his full weight into the soldier. It wasn't much, and it certainly wasn't enough. The man thrust the rifle back, smashed his already damaged ribs with the stock and threw him to the floor.

His vision blurred and the pain in his chest was almost unimaginable. He held himself up on his hands and knees, barely breathing, and then vomited on the brick alley before he lost even that must strength and collapsed entirely. He was thrown back again and an incredible burst of heat washed over him as he heard a deafening gunshot followed by even more shooting in the street outside. By the time the pain subsided enough for him to look up from the floor the sky was filled with smoke and flame. The man he'd attacked was dead, his entire abdomen ripped apart by Regina's shotgun; the ground was covered in his entrails, blood running down the gaps in the pavement.

Kirk crawled up to the brick wall and leaned against it, his already disgusting clothes covered in vomit and gore. How had his life come to this? He turned his head with great difficulty and peered out the end of the alley. Regina was speaking to two men in grey clothes, vaguely military but in no uniform he recognised. Three corpses lay between them, but men were entering the alley with stretchers.

"What have we done?" gasped a voice by his side. Mirzin was leaning there, barely conscious, but his eyes were wide and fixed on the burning foundry in the distance. The officer burst into laughter, coughing up a mouthful of blood in the process. "I just killed an entire platoon of Alvernian soldiers. I just don't understand," he continued, pausing to take a deep breath, "why would they even attack us?"

Edward was in no state to answer, but he'd have liked to comment on the absurdity of asking a man who they'd been keeping in a dungeon under said facility for commentary on its fate. He expected unconsciousness to follow, never having experienced a more appropriate time for an easy exit. Of course it failed to eventuate, and he found himself placed in the uncomfortable position of watching more men in grey uniforms load him and the other man into the back of a truck.

It was an uneventful trip. The medical team operated on Mirzin's shoulder as he watched, extracting two bullets and sealing it up in the usual fashion. He was on occasion mistaken for an actual doctor, but he'd never known the first thing about medicine. The head doctor pressed a syringe into his arm and he was finally given some relief.

He awoke later in a hospital bed looking at yet another thick iron door. The walls were painted and the lights more modern, but for all its comforts it was still a cell. He sighed and let his head fall back into the pillow.

"So, not dead after all?" a voice to his right asked.

He looked over, instantly regretting his haste when he felt the spike of pain in his chest. Regina was leaning against the wall, but her uniform had vanished, replaced by a leather jacket and jeans. That in itself was a source of confusion.

"No," Kirk replied, exhaling as he pulled his head up again. "Would it be better if I were?"

She shrugged, expression relaxed in the way always adopted by people trying their best to be reassuring.

"Where am I, exactly?" he asked, too tired for anything more than bluntness.

"Another hidden little facility out in the ruins,' she replied.

"I'd gathered that. But are we on the run, are we outlaws?"

"Nobody saw us, nobody knew we were there, and officially the raid was targeting Borginian-funded insurgents. Hereson turned that one back on the colonel within minutes. I've got to admit, I don't think anyone thought he had it in him."

"Can't have been much of a public victory. How many soldiers died in that foundry?"

"Enough to piss the entire country off," she said, sitting on a metal stool next to the bed and leaning in.

"They're coming today. You need to accept what they offer," Regina murmured, making full eye contact without a hint of anything other than seriousness. "If you meant what you said back in that cell and weren't just fucking with me, I'll see what I can do, but you need to get out of here first."

He found it a tempting offer, all the sweeter coming from her. Still, the image of being little more than an indentured servant for even more military scum was no less sour, and he felt unable to answer.

There's a stain on their blue paint, he thought, eyes fixed on the back wall. When had he last seen the sun? It had to have recently; surely his imprisonment hadn't been for so long. On Ibis Island, perhaps. But all his memories of that place were of sterile halls, rooms deep under the earth, unending monitors and displays and lights. Everywhere he went the lights followed. It was a cold place. They'd built the facility in such a warm location, he knew, but that knowledge seemed incompatible with his memories.

He turned his head back to look at Regina, but she was lost in thought as well. Where was the sternness, the brutality he'd seen such a short time ago? The woman sitting before him hardly seemed the same one who'd just fired a shotgun into a man's stomach without a hint of remorse. Her expression was beyond his ability to describe, but it was undoubtedly familiar.

Finally decided, Kirk looked up at the ceiling and exhaled, drawing her attention. "I'm tired of being hunted like a beast." He was utterly exhausted. He gathered his energy despite that and pulled himself off the bed, managing at least to sit if not stand.

The door opened, sliding back into the wall with barely a sound. The man who entered was not the one he'd expected, and judging from the way Regina moved to the side of the room, hand calmly sitting near the pistol on her hip, she hadn't expected him either.

"Well, isn't this nice?" the man said as he closed the door behind him, smiling as if meeting his friends for lunch.

Neither of them responded. "Not the welcome home party I was hoping for either," he said, standing before the two of them.

"Harper? How could you possibly be here? You were sent to Ibis Island with Rick," Regina asked.

"That's Major Frank Harper, Lieutenant whoever you are. I like your red hair, very fashionable. Anyway, I assure you I've had a worse week than the two of you. Shot, nearly blown apart, and then they call me back to sort out your mess when I'm barely out of the hospital. Had to sneak into my own city through a sewer, and not the slightest bit of gratitude for it either,' Harper said, sitting in the vacant seat with a grimace.

Kirk looked at him more closely. His black hair was greying, his face angular, and his smirk was decidedly unpleasant. He couldn't have been much older than thirty. His years surrounded by officials, military men, and scum of all descriptions had given him a good insight into the personalities of those around him. This one was difficult to judge.

"Fascinating,' Regina replied, tone indicating it was anything but. "How are we doing this?"

"Hereson thinks you're dead, Doctor. There are so many burnt corpses under that old foundry that nobody can say for sure, so you're in luck. Even better, your lovely new friend here has argued on your behalf for a fairer arrangement," Harper said, grinning at the two of them. Kirk glanced over at Regina in surprise, but she ignored him in favour of watching the messenger.

Harper pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket, looked over it for a moment, and shredded it. "You'll be given whatever resources we can manage to continue your work on the Third Energy. In return for support, security, financial compensation, and a guarantee that you can continue your work in peace, you'll be developing this technology solely for _us._ Not the Alvernian government or military as a whole, you understand." He shrugged as if it were obvious. "Of course you understand."

"That's not very specific," Kirk objected, surprised at the vagueness of the offer.

"Does it need to be? You're believed dead by the Alvernian military, but you're a wanted criminal if you're not. Borginia have some serious questions they want answered concerning the research facility you worked at and the sudden violent deaths of every employee other than you, and you have no assets to speak of otherwise," Harper replied, tone still light.

"Besides," he continued, "what other allies do you have?"

"That works both ways," Kirk replied, rearranging the bandages around his chest as he spoke.

Harper remained silent for a moment. "You're more right than you know. We'll all on the line, and that makes people desperate." He rose, the unpleasant smile already back on his face. "You'll be moved soon, but I wasn't told when. Oh, and Lieutenant, your friend gave me a message for you. But that can wait. Enjoy your day, Doctor."

And with that said he left, leaving the two of them alone again.

"That man is far too cunning. You'd do well to get rid of him before he does the same to you," Kirk muttered.

"You may be right, but neither of us is in a position to make that call,' Regina replied, heading for the door. "I'm sure you'll prove me a fool for doing this, but I've bought you your chance. Don't overestimate your value – this is the only one they're going to give you. I'll see you soon." She nodded back at him and left, the door locking behind her.

He lay back on the bed with his hands behind his head. He knew he could be eloquent, but charismatic? As Regina had alluded, his last research team despised him. If anything he said had convinced her, it was only because it played on pre-existing thoughts of her own.

Still, he considered, perhaps that was better. But if that was the case, then what were her intentions? And that man, Harper. He'd all but said that they were conspiring against both the Borginians and their own government. Had she picked up on that little detail? Not for the first time he found himself with nothing to do but wait for those with more power to return. Still, the circumstances were entirely changed, and he knew he that soon after they did he'd finally be in a position to make his own demands.


	8. Chapter 8

Author Note: These chapters are getting quite long, and that makes it more difficult to find and correct errors. In the unlikely event that anyone reads this sort of thing, please understand that anything I post should be considered little more than a first draft.

It was a solemn day down to the last detail, entirely appropriate for the seriousness of the occasion. Thick clouds covered the sky, painting the city grey and setting the scene for the arrival of the first of many cars in the funeral procession being held for the soldiers killed in the recent raid in the all but abandoned south-western industrial zone two weeks before. It promised to be quite the event, with a major speech on the nation's response to the crisis scheduled to take place shortly after the conclusion of the funeral service.

An entire district had been closed off for the event, and every security precaution taken. Streets were blocked, guards patrolled the roads, snipers waited on rooftops, and certain members of the crowd were officials in plain clothes placed there to pre-empt any problems. High ranking representatives of both the government and military were present in large numbers, all eager to seize a rare opportunity to be seen in a positive light.

Major General Hereson was the man of the hour and he certainly wasn't going to waste the opportunity. He and his entourage, including two ministers and his entire staff, were standing under heavy guard by a marble monument in a park. For some time they'd been speaking to members of the public from all levels of society, all recorded by the legions of media teams swarming anyone of note.

Regina was, of course, expected to attend, as was every other member of Colonel Royce's office. She stood alone under the cover of an outdoor café at the entrance to a side street far from anyone of significance. Had she been any choice in the matter she'd have been out of the city entirely, but that would only have caused more difficulty for all of them.

After the dust had settled and the last of the many chemical hazards spread by the explosion and resulting fire had been contained, the exact details of the day no longer seemed to matter. The raid on Royce's makeshift facility under the foundry had benefited all involved, at least those who didn't have to do the fighting. Anti-Borginian sentiment was absolutely everywhere, and the public seethed in anger over the deaths of nearly fifty of their men in, as the media called it, an act of vile cowardice and unforgivable treachery.

Intrigue and espionage had been her life for five years, but there was something far seedier about the existence she'd been asked to accept now. Neither Hereson nor Royce acknowledged the truth of what had happened except among their own men, and she was expected to do the same. Images of the man she'd killed were especially difficult. An Alvernian soldier like her, and she'd thrust a shotgun into his stomach and shot him to conceal a series of lies. That man, one of the few corpses to still have a face, had become the symbol of Alvernia's hatred for the Borginian funded insurgents, and none of it had the slightest basis in truth.

The hero of the hour, at least to the few who knew what he'd done, was Dmitri Mirzin. Risking his life to detonate the explosives placed to bury the facility in the event of an attack and then summoning the men in grey for assistance was more than he'd ever been expected to do, though he'd suffered dearly for it. Her own role in the affair was being kept quiet deliberately, and that was how she preferred it. He'd been left with Kirk in the same facility while they waited for an opportunity to smuggle the researcher out undetected.

"It's going to look suspicious if you stand around here all day," a man behind her said as he approached the café.

She'd been so preoccupied with her thoughts that she hadn't even heard him coming, but it still didn't come as a surprise. "Mind's always on the job, right Gail? At least some things never change."

Gail stopped by her side and stood silently for a moment, eyes focused on the cars passing in the next street. "It's the only way to avoid ending up in one of those," he replied, nodding at the black funeral cars.

She looked at him more closely. They hadn't had the opportunity to speak for three weeks, but Gail wasn't the type to do so unless he had something specific to discuss. His hair hadn't changed, his clothes were high quality, practical, and unmemorable, and his face was still the same unreadable glare it'd always been.

"You don't think those men had their mind on the job?"

"If they did, then their commander was incompetent. Pick the right men for the job and don't go in unprepared,' he said, the disdain in his voice completely undisguised. "They should've sent a team of people like us in to do it quickly and quietly. No time to raise the alarm or call for backup that way."

Unless they wanted those soldiers to die, and that was an idea Regina had been considering ever since it happened. "What do you think they'll do now?" she asked, trying to change the subject to something less delicate.

"Doesn't matter, we're going to be busy either way. Promotion or not, nobody forgets your background in this place."

The conversation slowed as it always did with Gail, and they watched the procession in silence. Many of the bodies hadn't been found, and others were so disfigured it was nearly impossible to determine which side they'd been fighting for. She'd been told the 'recovery' teams were more interested in evidence than recovering corpses, though the public had been told another story entirely.

Regina glanced back at him and saw with surprise his hands were tightly gripped around the railing and his expression was unnatural, as if he was putting effort into looking calmer than he was. He noticed her staring but remained as he was.

"Something wrong, Gail?" she asked, eyes fixed on the cars ahead.

The thick muscles in Gail's arms were completely knotted. "I need to ask you what happened in that foundry."

That was a rather confusing request, she thought. He'd have been told the details, surely, and even if he suspected treachery, what would she know? "Not much I can tell you. Royce had his assistant pick me up from my hotel that morning. We drove to the foundry, were checked over by the guards there, and then they showed me where Kirk was being held. I thought I was making progress with him, but then I heard the gunshots. We followed the tunnels to a manhole outside and were rescued by the men Mirzin called in."

He stared at her for a moment to the point that it felt like an interrogation. Regina took a seat at one of the tables, but by then he seemed satisfied. "So who were these men?"

"I hate to say it, but I'm really no more informed than you are. They had grey clothes, might have been a uniform. Never seen them before, haven't seen them since." she replied, a note of irritation creeping into her voice.

More staring followed, but fortunately not for long. "I believe you," he replied, taking the seat next to her, "but if there's anything you think I should know, now's the time." She shook her head, not entirely sure what he expected her to say. Even so, it really did seem like he was trying to tell her something and failing miserably.

The last car finally passed and Gail looked at his watch. "Still two hours until the service is done. I need to go, they'll expect me back. I'll see you soon," he said, rising to his feet and nodding at her. She turned her head to watch him leave and he hesitated again, turning halfway back before reconsidering and leaving. The words still hadn't come, and she knew they probably never would.

The amplified sound of a man speaking through a speaker systems filled the air shortly after, though she'd chosen a spot to stand so far away from the rest that the exact words were too faint to hear. The street began to fill with people looking for a place near the officials giving the speech. Many held signs, the majority of which seemed to call for revenge against the 'attackers'.

As the protest began so did the chants and the displays of public anger. The guards provided little resistance, though she'd expected that. Why would they, when the protests provided invaluable support? She saw another group approaching, this one closer to her position. Their leader, a muscular man missing half his left arm, shouted something at the larger group and nearly started a public fight; the guards waited far too long before intervening.

The media captured it all on film, of course, she noted. It really was a game to these people. Unable to stand the façade being paraded before her a moment longer, Regina left the café for the other end of the street, intending to get as far from the funeral and the officials as she possibly could.

But of course that was impossible. The streets were filled with patrols because of the new security measures justified by the 'attack'. She reached the end of a long commercial road and was stopped at a checkpoint by the entrance to a public park.

"If you're heading east I'll need to see your papers," the guard said in a bored, disinterested tone, eyes fixed on her red hair. He held a rifle in both hands, and two more men were stationed by the same intersection.

"Then I'm heading anywhere but east," she snapped, pushing past and heading for the other end of the road. He didn't bother challenging her.

For some time she wandered the streets, but the more time she spent exploring that foul, decrepit city, the more anxious and the more restless she became. The streets were poorly maintained and abandoned buildings were common even in the inner city. Fatigue set in and she admitted defeat, returning to the hotel and pausing at the stair leading to the rooms. She reconsidered, fully aware her absence from the ceremony would be noticed, and turned back to the bar.

The hotel's bar was spacious but dark, built primarily from stone. A large window faced the eastern sky, but any sun they'd expected to enter was blocked by a brick wall on the other side. The room smelled faintly of tobacco smoke and detergent. A wilted palm sat in a pot on the carved stone floor, and she found the sight of that miserable plant a poor greeting, if an appropriate one.

She took a seat on the far end of the bar, two seats from one of the three other people in the room. One was nearly asleep in a seat by the window, drool running down his bearded chin and grease on his clothes. The other was the young woman staffing the bar, one who showed her social skills by remaining silent when she saw the clear frustration on Regina's face. The last was a man in a collared shirt and jeans drinking some colourless liquid at the bar.

"You're here earlier than expected. Not very fond of parades?" asked the man to her right a minute after she took her seat.

Clumsy pick-up line, if that's what it was, but what does he mean _expected_. She turned her head with some effort and realised she knew him. Greying hair and a mocking sneer. But why would Harper be in her hotel, or even still in the city?

"Have you been sent to spy on me? Who would I even betray you to, you imbecile?" she snapped, head in her hands. Her head was pounding, and now even the idea of alcohol brought nothing but nausea.

Harper stared, his expression friendly but lacking real sincerity. "I have better things to do than spy on you, if you must know. Besides, why bother? Work, hotel, work, hotel… not much variation," he replied, sounding utterly bored already.

She didn't bother responding, tired of the games these people played. He'd get to the point before long.

"I was expected to be there too, you know, but I figured I'd rather slit my throat than listen to another one of those ridiculous speeches." He shrugged and looked over at the bartender, who found an excuse to leave for the back room. "I have two things for you to look at, and then I'd like to tell you what's going to happen in the next week."

He passed an envelope to her across the bar. "That's a message from your friend Rick. If not for him I'd likely be dead, though I did return the favour, so delivering his mail seemed like a nice thing to do."

She tore the envelope open. No news from Ibis Island had been shared for some time, and she'd feared the worst. Even Gail hadn't been informed.

The letter was brief, scrawled by hand in Rick's neat print. The look on Harper's face told her he'd already read it. A man like him would be sure to read it and make sure you knew he'd done so.

_We've survived one attack since you last heard from me, but the hangar and second floor have been destroyed. Pretty messy stuff, right? Hope things are better on your end, but from what I hear it's getting pretty tense back home. If they attack in full I don't know how long we can hold, at least without destroying the entire facility. Maybe that's why they've been holding off._

_I've been unable to access the generator; the security controls are being overridden by an outside entity. I figure Kirk's going to know about that, so maybe you can beat it out of him and save me a LOT of trouble._

_Stay safe, and don't do anything rash. Keeping a low profile might be the best way to survive this mess. Still got my charisma even if we are under siege, so that's something; I met a guy you'd like. Similar personality, bit more outgoing. Pretty good looking too. You always did need more friends, right?_

The letter was signed with his elaborate signature, but her impression was that there were things he wasn't willing to discuss on paper. The news of an attack wasn't entirely surprising, but she was worried for her friend. Rick had never been suited to killing or the reality of combat, despite his considerable skills.

She pocketed it and looked back at Harper. "I hope you're not the outgoing friend he mentioned."

He laughed at that. "No, I'm afraid not. Rick's befriended a TRAT officer, which isn't such a bad idea."

She reached over the bar and found a box of painkillers under the counter. "TRAT's full of barbarians," she muttered, swallowing three of the tablets and rubbing the side of her head.

"Are you saying they never think or that they're brutes?"

"Usually both," she replied, perfectly aware that he wasn't finished with her. They'd met twice and both times she'd been left uncomfortable, but nothing he'd said or done had been especially unsettling. Perhaps it was only that she had absolutely no idea what he wanted from her.

"Well, I won't disagree. But you'll find most are that way no matter who they are. Are you? Am I?" He shrugged. "The military attracts the unthinking type, but there are times when I'll see someone, you for instance, who seem to be putting it on because it's expected, not because it's true."

"I'd have thought we'd been friends for years, the way you talk," Regina said, deliberately injecting a note of mockery into her voice.

"Time is usually irrelevant in these matters, I find. Some people have as much to say after one day as they do after ten years. Dullness shows itself early. I joined Royce's group because he seemed a bit more interesting than the rest of them. Even if we do all end up on the wrong end of a firing squad, well, I can think of worse things."

She turned to look at him more closely, realising the bartender still hadn't returned. It was an odd thing to say, really, but she was almost surprised to find the idea of dying in pursuit of something genuinely worthwhile wasn't such an unappealing idea. "So does that make you one of Royce's true believers? They still haven't told me what they believe in, but he has quite a collection of devotees."

"Don't mistake my intentions. Royce is an interesting man, and his goal is an ambitious one," Harper replied, pouring himself another drink. "But it's not my goal. I've never found anything worth chasing, to be perfectly honest."

"Really? Nothing at all?" she asked, unveiled scepticism dripping from her words.

"Not a thing," he said with a sigh, eyes fixed on the clock above the bar. "What could really be worth the bother? And once the goal is achieved, then you've just got to find another one, right?"

He held his hand up to stop her answering. "You can answer that a little later. I'll even indulge your own curiosity, but there's no time for it now."

"Urgent business, of course," she said, flashing a pleasant smile to him. Regina had played enough of these games to realise he wasn't going anywhere. It had occurred to her that the ceremony would have drawn the attention of the entire city and that his presence was unlikely to be coincidental.

"I'll leave that for you to decide," Harper said, his face still twisted into a mockery of a smile. "How do you suppose our good friend the major general found out about that foundry?"

She rubbed her forehead with a closed fist. The painkillers hadn't come close to doing as promised. Fortunately for Harper, his speech was soft enough that she could listen without her head pounding with each word. Even so, she'd been very close to telling him to fuck off, superior officer or not, when he came so close to telling her Royce's goal and didn't. It was worse than being slapped in the face, but she hadn't been any better off before he arrived. "If you don't stop asking me questions you already know the answer to I'm going to give you a reason to be more direct, Harper."

"Someone with a spine at last," he said, draining his glass and dropping it into the sink on the other side. The crash of glass against metal made Regina flinch and woke the man by the window, who sat there stunned for a moment before rising and stumbling out of the room, wanting no part of whatever was happening at the bar.

"That foundry shut down a decade ago along with most of the factories in that area. He needed a private place to hide people he didn't want found, whether his own men or otherwise, so he had parts of it taken over and rebuilt, including some of the drainage tunnels underneath."

"I'd guessed all that already," Regina said. Someone was trying to enter the bar area, she noticed, but a man in the lobby stepped forward and diverted her. She wasn't even surprised.

"Well, it wasn't a bad idea, was it?" Harper said. "Who looks in drainage tunnels under an abandoned foundry for anyone associated with a man of Royce's rank? Anyway, the point I'm making is that nobody's going to just stumble onto that place, especially because the guards would never let them leave alive if they did."

"So who gave the secret away? You?"

"I had considered it, but Hereson's a grubby little man. He does what his backers want and he gets rewarded for it, and how dull is that? No, it had to be someone closer with more to gain."

"And you already know who it is, and are going to share that information in the next three words."

Harper smiled again. "It was Pretsin, the quiet, predictable officer worker. He's not finished yet, but there's another matter you might find interesting," he said, leaning in so close she could smell the vodka he'd been drinking. "He knows Kirk's alive, and because Hereson can't risk another fifty men dying he's likely to make an attempt on the Doctor's life. It happens once and it's a tragedy; it happens twice and he just looks incompetent."

It was an outrageous claim, no doubt, but it was impossible to deny: _someone_ had to have informed on them. Pretsin had worked under Hereson for years, but was too old to expect any career advancement and too cautious to be comfortable with the escalating situation at command.

She thought for a moment, taking care to restrain any displays of emotion on her face or in her tone as she'd been trained to do. "Even if that's true, and I see no reason to believe it is, why would you come to me?"

"Once the ceremony's finished nobody else is going to be in a position to do anything about it. But I came to you because we can handle this without involving the military or any of Royce's men," he replied, completely calm despite the claims he was making.

"And your proof?"

He stood up and gestured at her to follow him. "I'll take you to it. Primary sources are the best sources, I like to think. Certainly the most dramatic."

They left the hotel, and the man in the lobby fell in behind them. She glanced over at him, but he was simply an older man, perhaps in his mid-fifties, wearing an unmemorable black suit and tie. She was curious despite her caution, and quite confident she could kill Harper if it was necessary. The street outside was completely empty. A few cars parked along the side of the road and open windows in an apartment complex to the south were the only signs of life.

Regina followed the two men down an even quieter commercial side street, completely closed for the public day of mourning. A black van was parked at the entrance to an alley, the windows tinted and the sides suspiciously bulky.

Harper saw her staring and shrugged. "I took it from the police station where they're holding the ceremony. They asked what I wanted it for and I told them not to ask the guy in charge of the major general's security what he wants their van for unless they want to be in the back of that van." His assistant opened the back door while they watched the street.

"And how'd you get away with that?" she asked, not particularly interested but willing to indulge him.

"It's never too difficult. Just look like you belong there, act like a self-righteous cunt, and threaten people with your rank," he murmured, looking around the edge of the van and gesturing at her to follow.

Until that point she'd expected documents, perhaps video evidence. Even nothing at all was a likely option. Harper was charismatic if a little odd, though he seemed friendly enough. As he turned the corner, left hand in his pocket, she recalled Kirk's words two weeks before. He'd spent fifteen minutes with the man and told her to kill him before he could kill her. It was a nervous joke, or so she'd thought.

They turned the corner and the dignified assistant stepped back as Harper put one booted foot in the van. And then she saw it past his thin body. A middle-aged woman, wrists and legs bound with rope, lay in the otherwise empty van, eyes wide with terror. She was attempting to speak or scream, but her mouth was gagged.

"Just what have you done, Harper?" she snapped, having a sickening feeling she knew who the woman must be.

"You disapprove? Pretsin's wife can be expected to know Pretsin's business, yes? Especially when the meetings with Hereson's agent are held in their house," Harper replied, sneering at his captive. He nodded at the older man, and he stepped forward and removed the gag.

The woman pushed herself back and looked directly at Regina. "Please, tell them it's not my husband. He's never betrayed anyone," she said, voice shaking.

Regina realised she'd been singled out as a potential savior. Harper was wearing casual clothes and his assistant a suit. Her uniform marked her out as a lieutenant, and the woman must have recognised the insignia.

Harper knelt down. "There's no need for fright. If he's not the traitor your husband may be in immediate danger, and the lieutenant is the only one who has the power to save him," he murmured, tone soft and reassuring.

The complete change in tactic had the desired effect. She was still shaking, but the fear in her eyes was now mixed with confusion.

"Is it true that your husband has been periodically meeting an officer in your home?"

The woman hesitated, looked between the three of them, and sighed in defeat. "A young woman, several times in the last month."

Harper pulled a photograph from his pocket and showed it to Regina and then Pretsin's wife. It was a blonde woman in Alvernian uniform, stern-faced and missing the top half of her left ear, a distinctive marking on anyone. She stared for a moment and nodded in agreement, that yes, this woman had been meeting Pretsin periodically over the month.

The assistant passed a larger photograph to Regina, one showing the entirety of Hereson's staff at an informal event. The major general was sitting at a table with two men she recognised as members of his office, but the same woman was also at the table holding a drink and smiling at the photographer.

"Your husband has been meeting the personal secretary of the most powerful man in the city," he declared, voice leaving no room for doubt. He spun around, soft tone and manner completely gone. "Tell the lieutenant what you told me about the packages."

Regina listened with a sinking feeling in her stomach as the woman stammered her way through a response. Pretsin had delivered an envelope to Hereson's secretary with each visit, and received one within the last week that he'd hidden behind a bookshelf.

Harper looked over his shoulder, his meaning obvious. "Did you ever listen in on these conversations?" he whispered, voice so quiet Regina barely heard his words.

The captive gasped, tears gathering in her eyes. "I never listened in on anyone, I swear," she stammered, head darting between the three of them. "Why would I do such a thing?" She was weeping openly at this point.

"Because your husband was unsatisfied with his life, believed you both were in danger, and was meeting an attractive young woman while you sat in the hall desperate to know why," Regina said, not unkindly.

The woman was broken. "I only listened in on them once. He was talking about something, but I didn't understand it. He said that a captive had been moved again, this time to a factory. I was so ashamed of myself to have heard even that much." She burst into tears once more and buried her head in her hands.

"And when were they next going to meet?"

"He told me I had to be out of the house after five this afternoon."

Regina stepped outside and took a breath of fresh air. It was half an hour after the meeting time already, but there was little doubt left that Pretsin was guilty. Harper stepped out after her a moment later, but said nothing.

"We need to warn the Colonel," she said, rubbing her head in a futile attempt to relieve the throbbing headache. Had the painkillers actually made it worse?

"No time for that, especially after the ceremony's done. The meeting's already started, so we're going to handle it ourselves." He checked the streets, saw that they were empty, and nodded at his assistant.

The man in the suit stepped out of the van bringing Pretsin's wife with him. Her restraints were removed, and the two stepped into the alley.

"Does this mean my husband's innocent?" she asked, eyes darting back to Regina and the comfort of her status as an official.

"There's no need to worry about that now. I'm terribly sorry for scaring you, but you understand what's at stake. You're free to leave, but you can't go home until tomorrow, do you understand?" Harper said, standing beside her with no trace of the interrogator left on his features.

She grasped onto his words as if they were a lifeline. "Oh, thank you so much for understanding. Talk to him and you'll see he's done what's best for the country. I'll stay at my brother's house tonight," she said, voice still trembling as if she didn't believe her luck. She turned around to leave, and as soon as she was facing the street Harper seized a knife from his belt and buried it in the base of her neck.

He stepped to the side, avoiding the spray of blood as the woman fell to the floor. Regina's hand jumped to her pistol, but she resisted the urge to withdraw it. The woman's body shook as her blood ran down the filthy stones of the alley into the gutter. Regina watched, motionless, until the shaking subsided and she fell still.

As she watched the murderer instruct his accomplice to empty her purse and take all the valuables she realised how sordid and vile her life had become. Most of all she realised she'd felt nothing. Not when the woman cried, not when her eyes lit up at the merest suggestion of release, and not when he killed her on the street without the slightest sign of distress.

Harper's cold grey eyes met her own, the knife resting at his side. "There was no other choice, she'd seen both of us," he began, words fading as he watched her. "But you already understand that, don't you?"

They took any items of worth and left the corpse to rot in the street. To the unknowing it would appear little more than a particularly brutal robbery, and those who knew better would never have the opportunity to prove anything. Kirk may have been right to judge Harper as he did, she thought, but if that were so, what did that say about her?

The van pulled out of the alley and left the scene behind. Regina sat in the passenger seat and the assistant waited in the back.

"We'll be there in ten minutes. There's a shotgun and ammunition in the bag by your foot, if you'd prefer a more suitable weapon," he murmured. They took a left turn toward the coastal district.

"You planned this down to the last detail. If you hadn't spent the last hour convincing me of his guilt you could have done it yourself by now."

"That's true, but you see why it had to be done this way," Harper replied. And it was true that she acted as a witness and as valuable backup, but that seemed little more than a thin excuse.

"Cut the bullshit. What do you need me for?"

He remained silent for a long moment. "You were scheduled to be arrested after the conclusion of the ceremony. Internal security found a data disc in your hotel room ripped straight from the servers at the port office. I expect you'll be grateful to avoid prison."

"And?" she asked, dejected by the prospect of arrest for such a small oversight. Gail's visit at the café was beginning to take on a different meaning; he'd likely been informed of the decision. She had considered the possibility of the revelation being a lie, but the only choice was to accept it as true or risk arrest. "Has anyone else been targeted?"

Harper shrugged. "If they were willing to go after someone as low level as you, probably. But I only know that much because I was in the hotel while they searched your room. You think it's a coincidence that they were going to arrest you today when everyone's at the ceremony? I don't."

They pulled over outside a public laundry and Harper pointed to a small apartment complex on the far end of the street. "Pretsin lives on the second highest floor facing the street, apartment number 4B. Expect a lookout or two; it's standard procedure." She heard the back doors of the van close as the man in the suit came out with a heavy black case.

"Kosirim is quite reliable. He'll be covering us from the opposite rooftop." The older man left without a word, giving off a perfect impression of a tired businessman wishing he were anywhere but where he was. "I've also left a change of clothes in the top compartment in the back of the van. You can hardly expect to enter unnoticed wearing _that_."

They entered the apartment complex without any real attempt at secrecy, passing a black car parked in the main street on the way in. The clothes Harper had provided, a collared shirt and black trousers, were completely unmemorable. Harper carried the bag concealing the shotgun, but they both wore pistols and carried knives. The main hall of the apartment smelled faintly of damp wood, and Regina noticed the wallpaper was peeling through the dim light. A small elevator was built into the back wall, but they opted for the stairs, neither willing to trust the old machinery with their lives.

"I'd have thought a few decades in the service would pay for a better place than this," she muttered to Harper as they reached the second floor stairs.

"Debt can ruin the best of men," he replied, throwing the bag back over his shoulder.

The fourth floor was in a better state of repair than those below. The wallpaper was fresh, the lights bright, and the potted palms green and healthy. Apartment 4B was the second of two on the floor, which was unoccupied with the exception of a man in a suit engaged in a heated conversation over the phone.

As they draw near the door the man's eyes tracked them from his position by the door of the other apartment. "Hey, buddy, sorry to interrupt, but is that Mr Jurson's apartment? We've been looking for him all day," Harper said, approaching the man with an apologetic smile on his face.

"Who? Try the next floor, I don't have time for this," he replied, scowling at the interruption. He resumed his conversation until he felt the barrel of Harper's pistol pressed into his stomach. Regina stepped up and plucked the phone from his fingers.

"Stay calm and don't move. We know who you are and why you're here," Harper whispered in his ear while Regina held the phone away from them. "We need you to let us into room 4B. Then continue your conversation as before. Do this and you will not be harmed. Try to alert the room's occupants or your friend and you will both die; we have a sniper watching the car outside."

To his credit their captive complied almost instantaneously. He was likely private security, she knew, and there was no reason to die like a fool just for a wage. She drew her gun and stood on the side of the door as the two approached it. It all went to plan until they heard the gunshot outside the apartment blocks. The prisoner used the slight second as the door opened to slam his elbow into Harper's chest and jump to the side. A woman screamed from within, and Regina swore under her breath at the mess they'd gotten themselves into.

The guard attempted to pull a pistol from his jacket, but stopped upon seeing Regina's aimed at his head. Pretsin's apartment was well-lit and stylishly decorated with many paintings adorning the walls and the smell of lavender in the air. The woman from the photograph sat at a table in the dining area, but there was no sign of Pretsin or his family except a photograph of the man with his wife and a young woman Regina assumed was his daughter.

"What a fucking mess," she muttered as Harper rose from the floor with the shotgun in his hands.

"I know you," the woman at the table said, a shaking hand pointed at Harper. "What are you doing here, Michael? Has something happened?"

"Oh, yeah, something's happened. The man who lives here: where is he?"

"I can't tell you that, do you know what the general would do to me?" she answered, voice full of indignation. Regina realised with a sinking feeling the woman didn't have the slightest idea what was happening. Was there an alternative? She didn't see one.

A second shot rang out through the room and the man in the suit collapsed on the floor. Regina lowered her gun and the secretary screamed again, covering her eyes and retching in disgust.

"We don't have time for this. Where is Pretsin, and what did he tell you this afternoon?"

"He's gone," she whispered, eyes still covered.

"Where?"

She pushed a sheet of paper towards them. "He has an assignment. That's why I'm here. He's making a deal to get out of the military."

Regina looked at the sheet, eyes widening in surprise. "In exchange for a generous lifelong pension, house by the coast, and immediate retirement, Pretsin's exchanged all his data on Royce's private operations. The deal will be complete once he personally assassinates Edward Kirk."

"Looks like we know where he's going," Harper replied, the shotgun still held on the girl at the table. "How long ago did he leave?"

"Twenty minutes, sir," she replied, stammering in fear. "I didn't negotiate any of it, I swear, I'm just the person they sent to confirm it."

"I know. It's not your fault. The system that put us here is to blame for this mess," he replied. Regina heard the faint sounds of sirens in the distance, and the two glanced at each other.

"We need you to look out the window while we leave. When the police arrive give them our descriptions, but modify the details. You'll understand why we had to do this soon," he continued in the same voice. The sirens were closer still, but Regina looked at him with revulsion despite knowing there was no alternative.

The girl nodded and complied immediately, though Regina found even that to be unusual. She waited at the window, eyes fixed on the building across from the apartment. Regina took both the secretary's paperwork and the package hidden behind the bookshelf and stood in the hall until she heard the gunshot. Harper joined her a moment later, his face twisted into a look of loathing for a brief moment before he saw her watching.

The fire escape stairwell served as their escape route, passing the black car by the entrance and the dead driver within on the way out. Kosirim picked them up in the black van. They passed the police squad two streets after leaving Pretsin's apartment block.

"We don't have much time if we're going to keep Kirk alive. The hospital facility is only lightly guarded, but he's not going to expect any resistance," Regina said, watching the rows of apartments pass outside the window.

"That would be unfortunate. I saw what it can do. The power of a god and all you'd have to do to get rid of it is kill him and destroy that facility. It's all so fragile," he murmured, eyes fixed on the distant sky.

She watched him again. Could he be trusted? It was unlikely. The man had manipulated no less than three people into trusting him in the last few hours, and all three of them were now dead. Whatever he actually wanted would have to be revealed eventually, but he could easily kill her before then. Avoiding public appearances, killing anyone who could identify him… it might be that Kosirim was his only ally in the city.

"Here we are," Harper announced. They left the van by the side of a warehouse; one Regina knew was a front for one of the Colonel's private storage facilities. A blue car was parked on the same road; otherwise the entire street was empty.

He passed the shotgun to Regina without a word. "Well, we'd better get started," she said, taking the first step toward the warehouse. It promised to be a long night.


	9. Chapter 9

"I'm afraid I must insist. If I have to stay in this ugly little room a moment longer I'm going to make the rest of the night absolutely miserable for you."

The man he was persuading slumped even further into his chair. "Look, the ceremony's nearly done and this speech is too important to miss. If I did miss it they'd kill me," he groaned, straining to hear the voices coming out of the television.

Kirk ran his hands through his freshly washed blonde hair. His status had been upgraded from prisoner to 'guest', but at least they let him use the showers. That first touch of scalding water had to have been one of the best sensory experiences of his entire life. Even so, he'd been trapped in the same series of underground rooms for the past two weeks, and the fluorescent lights and baby-blue paint, not to mention the boredom, were testing his sanity.

Convincing Dmitri Mirzin, the man who'd been officially given the job of living there with him, to let him go on the rooftop was the only way to escape the labyrinth. Since they were all supposed to be friends he usually caved in and agreed, though reluctantly. Mirzin had been shot in the shoulder twice in the escape from the foundry, and though he avoided the subject it was clear that he wasn't recovering. He'd watched in secret as the man tried to hold a cup of water, but his fingers didn't have the strength to grip even that.

They weren't the only two in the facility, but the other visitors only appeared infrequently and never said much. The doctor who'd been treating them appeared most days, but she insisted that Kirk's ribs weren't damaged too severely, though one was fractured. Most of her time was spent in private discussions with Mirzin while Kirk was left to amuse himself. The guards patrolled the upper floors exclusively.

They had a television for news and a collection of badly written books and a few well-worn board games for entertainment. They still weren't willing to trust him with internet access, and why he'd been detained for so long when they all claimed the need for his skills was urgent hadn't been explained. He supposed it could only mean someone else was looking for him.

"I don't like the sound of this," Mirzin muttered, leaning in closer to the screen. Kirk had been avoiding the broadcast out of spite, but his curiosity and boredom overcame his pettiness and he moved his seat next to the other man.

"… identified by our top agents as a facility on an island in the south-west sea," stated a military representative to the media.

"Do we know just how complicit the Borginian government is in the deaths of the fifty men?" asked a middle aged reporter Kirk could only describe as greasy.

The redheaded spokesman paused for thought. "It may be that the conspiracy is limited to certain factions in their government, but we won't be taking any risks. Central command has full confidence in Colonel Royce's ability to find and eliminate the culprits, and we are willing to state that any resistance to our investigation of the island these extremists are using as their base of operations will be taken as an admission of guilt by all parties involved."

"What will be the Colonel's first move, Major?" asked the same reporter, holding the microphone obnoxiously close to the man's face.

"We will not be discussing operational matters so specifically for obvious reasons, but the Colonel has already left the city to begin the first stage of the mission." The interview continued, but Kirk was more interested in Mirzin's opinion than the Major on the screen's scripted responses.

"So your boss has been told to eliminate the Borginian insurgents by capturing, I presume, Ibis Island? Am I missing something, or are they just stupid?"

Mirzin's gaze shifted from the TV to Kirk. "He's being removed from Merestan along with all his staff. Whether Borginia really is funding these guys or not, they're not going to just let us walk all over them like this. Gets us out of his way into a position where we'll probably all be dead within a month," the other man replied, his forehead creased in worry.

"Removing him to an island with a functioning Third Energy generator," Kirk said, almost laughing at the absurdity of the move. "Or doesn't Hereson know what that means?"

"I think you're the only one who knows what that means. It's a smart move based on what he does know."

Kirk laughed, smirking at the officer. "You must be wondering why they're all so interested in my work."

"I had wondered that. Seems like we're all going to die because of you and your work. Maybe I should kill _you_, just like that."

Kirk pulled his chair over to Mirzin's place on the couch. "How about we make a deal? You tell me what Royce's goal is, why he's caused so much of a mess, and preferably why Hereson hates him so much. I tell you what the Third Energy does and why I'm so important."

Mirzin's eyes widened in surprise. "And I thought you weren't ever going to open your mouth except to insult me."

"I've been pleasant company and you know it. So is it a deal, or should we both go back to guessing the answers we won't share?"

He knew Mirzin would crack, and judging by the pitiful attempts the man was making to pretend he was hesitant, he knew it too.

After a final moment of silence he gave Kirk an answer. "Ever notice how nothing ever improves around here? What am I saying, of course you must have. Call it corruption or just the way it works, but both the military and the elected government are backed by the same people, and they're only in it for themselves. He wants a change in management."

"So that's it. I was convinced he had to be either a hopeless idealist or a manipulative sociopath." It was the answer he'd expected, but there was no need to be disappointed. Based on his observations there were few other reasons for such reckless behaviour from a man of his status.

"Either? So which is it?"

He shrugged, noting the broadcast had entered the phase where media personalities discussed the revelations amongst themselves. "It's entirely possible that he's both, but that depends on whether he intends to change the system that allows such groups of people to exist or simply wants to replace them with himself and his friends."

"Does Hereson know that? Is he one of these mystery men?" he asked, genuinely curious. The major general had never seemed particularly interesting to him.

"I think so," Mirzin said, reaching for the remote control on the table to his left. "I always thought he was a bit… ordinary, but if he had it in him to storm our foundry, maybe not." The remote fell to the floor and Mirzin flinched, his jaw clenching in frustration.

"Not even thirty, and my left arm's useless," he muttered with a sigh, sinking so low into the seat Kirk could barely see him past the armrest.

He reached over and handed the remote back. "Two weeks is hardly enough time to make that kind of assessment."

"Oh, you're a real doctor now? Good to know," Mirzin snapped. He apologised a moment later, but Kirk didn't hold it against him. He knew he'd be taking such an injury even harder than the assistant was.

They remained silent for a moment, but Kirk was quite aware he still hadn't been asked to uphold his end of the deal.

"Have I seen that man somewhere before?" he asked, pointing to an image of a man being shown on the television.

Mirzin looked back at the screen, turning the volume up as he did so. "Might have been one of the guys from the foundry. I think I saw him die, actually," he murmured, a slight hint of confusion in his voice.

A woman spoke over the image. "This man is believed to be leading a group of militants planning attacks throughout southern Alvernia. He is to be considered extremely dangerous. If you see this man, notify the local military authorities immediately. Do not approach him yourself under any circumstances."

His image disappeared, replaced by a live feed of a blonde newsreader with a grave expression. "In related news, several prisoners have shared information leading to the identification of several traitors in the government. As of tonight the identities of these people are to be released publicly. All eight of these individuals are wanted for questioning. They are also to be considered extremely dangerous. The office of Major General Hereson warns that while not every person pictured has been confirmed as a traitor, none of them are to be confronted directly. Inform the nearest officials immediately if you see any of these people, and do not openly panic; this may alert them and endanger your own life."

The woman vanished, replaced by eight photographs. The remote fell to the floor again, but Kirk knew it wasn't because of his crippled arm. Mirzin's photograph was prominently displayed in the top right corner, the smiling man in the image almost impossible to see in the horrified face staring back at the screen.

He scanned the other photographs. One man he saw killed only two weeks before. The next two he didn't know. The fourth was Mirzin, the fifth a middle-aged woman, the sixth a frowning young girl with short red hair. The last two might have been familiar, but he couldn't say for sure.

"Kirk, look, that's her. She's only been in the city a few weeks, why would they go after her?"

He took a closer look at the young woman's picture. The hair was shorter and undyed, and she was definitely younger, but there was no doubt they'd marked Regina as one of the eight traitors. "Both of you will be interrogated and killed if they capture you," he said, feeling a wave of exhaustion overcome him. All eight were associates of Colonel Royce, if he'd guessed correctly. That and the assault on the foundry indicated an information leak, and if that was the case then the inclusion of unimportant or dead faces had to have been done to divert attention from their primary targets.

"I don't think we're safe here. How can Royce do anything with no support in the city? If they knew about the other facility, it's only logical to assume this one may also have been compromised," he murmured to himself, eyes fixed on the blue wall behind the screen.

Mirzin ran to the other side of the room and unlocked a cupboard near the door to the bathroom. "I'm not trained for this kind of thing, what are we meant to do now?" he muttered, rummaging through the supplies and pulling a pistol and box of ammunition out the back of the cupboard.

Edward rose from the chair, watching the man try to awkwardly load the pistol with only his right hand. He sighed in resignation and shoved his hands in the pockets of the jacket they'd given him. Looked like he'd be on the run again, but there would be no deals on the table with these people. They were completely trapped; the complex only had the one concealed door as an escape route, and even if they did leave there was nowhere to hide.

"How many men does Hereson command?" he asked, looking at the furniture in hope he was missing some important detail.

"Twenty thousand, I think," Mirzin called back. "Most of his men are in the base up north or spread around the western districts."

He felt like smashing his head into the wall. There was still a chance they believed he was dead, but he couldn't honestly say that to himself without it feeling like a liar.

The pistol was finally loaded. "We have to assume all the safehouses have been discovered," Mirzin murmured, eyes unfocused as he thought. "There are still security checkpoints at every major district, and I don't know where to go even if we could leave. My savings aren't going to pay for much, and even if they would, I can't just show my face in a store."

The sound of the main door's motor interrupted his planning. They shared a horrified glance as Kirk moved behind the officer and his weapon. "Maybe we could just shoot ourselves," Mirzin muttered, eyes on the gun in his trembling right hand.

Kirk caught a glimpse of a blue uniform as someone came down the stairs. Still, that meant nothing.

"Dmitri? So you're still here," said the man as he entered the room. He was old, and the exhaustion in his voice was clear enough, but it couldn't have been physical.

The pistol lowered an inch. "You saw the broadcast, right? What are we going to do, John?"

He didn't recognise the man, and what reassurance was it that Mirzin knew him? None. 'John' took another step forward and Kirk saw the light shine off his face. There were tears in his eyes.

"There's nothing we can do," John replied. The emotion in his voice was obvious. If anyone should have recognised it, Edward Kirk was that person. Despair and hopelessness wrapped around self-loathing. His own failures inspired the exact same feeling, and it was dripping from that man's voice.

"Don't think like that. The Colonel's made it out of worse than this," Mirzin said, a nervous smile appearing on his face for a brief moment.

"This is different and you know it. He's never going to come back from that island. You never did want to admit we might get burned if we pushed this too far."

"Then why are you here?" Mirzin asked, the hand holding the gun shaking and lowering even further. Kirk was debating the merits of seizing the weapon, but it was impossible to determine whether that was the best course of action.

John was silent for a long, terribly tense moment. He seemed to have difficulty with each word, but eventually broke the silence. "I have to escort Kirk to the port. The last ship leaves in three hours, Doctor," he said, glancing at Kirk for a moment. The man was unable to meet his eyes.

"Very well," Kirk replied, feigning both politeness and complicity. "Let's go, Mirzin."

"He'll never get past the checkpoints. Only the two of us will make it, Kirk. Get moving."

Kirk raised an eyebrow. "Well, isn't that a shame. But do you know, I'm not convinced it's safe for any of us to be on the streets. How do you propose we get to the port unseen? You've seen what they'll do to win, and I can't imagine one of the Colonel's officers would be left to roam the city without being watched."

"I assure you that staying here is far more dangerous than travelling to the port. We'll be there within twenty minutes. I took all precautions to ensure I wasn't seen before entering the facility," he replied in a voice so devoid of emotion it could only be described as mechanical.

"But how could you suggest leaving your injured friend here to be captured and killed?" Kirk asked, putting his hand on Mirzin's shoulder with a smirk. It was too easy for him, really. He looked down at the shorter man and realised he was shaking. Fear, or perhaps anger?

The older man's jaw clenched. "I'm not suggesting anything of that sort, it's just that," he began before breaking off. He looked directly at Mirzin. "I'm sorry, Dmitri, really I am." He swept forward, covering the ground from the door to them within a second, and seized Mirzin's gun. They struggled for a brief moment, but the intruder slammed the palm of his hand into the younger man's wounded shoulder and he fell to the floor with a hiss of pain.

Edward had only reached the first step when the order to stop came. He wasn't suited to or skilled at fighting, and there was nothing he could've done to overpower the traitor even if he'd attacked while they were both standing. He turned around, hands in the air. Looked like he'd be going back to prison, and that was strictly a best case scenario.

"Why'd you do it, Pretsin?" spat Mirzin from the floor. He was leaning against the couch, one hand on his shoulder and the other hanging limp at his side.

"You had to ask? Not all of us are like the two of you. I have a wife and daughter, and do you know what happens to them if I go down with you?" Pretsin's mechanical tone had finally broken, replaced by bitterness and despair. It was the voice of a man filled with self-loathing, and he too was shaking, the pistol aimed at Kirk, who was trying terribly hard not to panic and struggling to keep his stoic expression intact. He refused to die begging for mercy.

Mirzin looked up, but couldn't find the words and lowered his head. Blood was beginning to leak from under his shirt.

"Right. Edward Kirk, I'm going to give you a choice, much like they gave me a choice. You can die now, or you can return with me to western command."

It was an offer that said more about the giver than the receiver. Pretsin had likely considered that choice himself, but a family man always has other concerns. Still, he was beaten. "We'll return to the command centre."

Prestsin nodded, gesturing at the door. "For what it's worth, Dmitri, I'm not going to tell them that you're here. I advise you get out and start over."

Kirk reached the stairs and peered into the small tunnel leading to the surface as his captor tried to soothe his conscience. A hand reached out from within and pulled him up the first few steps with ease, but the forcefulness of their approach ended with him collapsing and smashing his jaw on the stone. Pretsin fired the pistol in shock, the bullet lodging itself in the wall above him.

His saviour in the tunnel leapt down the last few steps while he struggled not to scream from the pain. He rolled himself around and caught a glimpse of the scene in the room before scrambling to hide behind the stone doorframe, fully aware of how pathetic he must look. The tunnel was quite wide and completely unlit, giving him some limited protection.

A man knelt down before him and signalled him to remain silent. It was difficult to tell who he was in the darkness, but judging from the scene below he knew he could guess from a small list just who it must be.

"Kirk, come back out," barked a female voice from below. The man next to the doctor grinned and pulled him back to his feet.

The first thing he saw upon re-entering the room was a woman dressed as an office worker holding a shotgun to John Pretsin, who in turn was holding the injured assistant before him as a human shield. The woman's vivid red hair gave her true identity away, but to think Regina had rescued him twice was almost cause to break into laughter. He'd nearly shot her in the head little more than a month before; if anyone had reason to kill him it was her.

"Well, this is an unpleasant situation," Kirk remarked, looking at the traitor with a smirk. "If you leave without me you're probably dead, but if you try to fight you're certainly dead."

"Shut up, Kirk. I'm sick of cleaning up after you," Regina snapped, taking a step closer to the two men. "If you drop the weapon, you can leave. Take the same advice you gave to Mirzin."

Pretsin was shaking. Risking his own life was one thing, but the consequences were obvious to all of them. If he left alive without killing the doctor it would be taken as a sign of betrayal, but if he managed to kill Kirk he too would die, and all they would need to do is hide his corpse and Kirk's and Hereson would still view it as a betrayal. They'd left him with only one way to secure the safety of his family, but the contemptibility of the plan came as a surprise even to Kirk, who was more familiar than most with all kinds of baseness.

"Throw it all away, and for what?" Pretsin whispered. The look of despair on his face was absolutely pitiful. His captive was barely standing, eyes unfocused and staring at the wall.

"Because it's the only way to keep your family safe," Regina said, but she shuddered and almost hesitated before saying it. What could that possibly mean, he wondered? She rarely chose to show any emotion at all, and that was surely an involuntary display.

Her ploy worked as they all knew it would. Pretsin lowered the injured captive onto the couch and dropped the gun to his side. "I'm sorry you got caught up in this. Neither of you could have seen this coming," he said, the pistol slipping from his fingers to the floor.

The broken man walked to the stair, turning back and looking at the two of them as he did so. Regina said nothing, unable to meet his eyes, but the doctor watched with interest as he took the first step. As he reached the top a single shot was fired, and Regina collapsed into the chair next to the couch, head buried in her hands.

Kirk took a step closer and knelt down next to her. 'You knew that would happen," he said, barely louder than a whisper. She didn't respond, but her eyes jumped to the stair as a man entered the room, his steps echoing off the stone walls.

The grin he'd flashed Kirk in the tunnel was gone, and his grey eyes looked over the three of them, settling on no-one. There were only a few people who could have been helping her now, but Kirk had hoped it wasn't this one. People he couldn't predict were dangerous; Regina was at least predictably dangerous.

Regina's eyes narrowed, gaze still fixed on the man across the room. "You planned every part of this, didn't you? I should have seen it coming."

Harper shrugged, not even bothering to feign innocence. "Pretsin had to die. You wouldn't have killed him."

She stood up, any sign of lethargy vanishing as she did so. "You're right, he did. But if you hadn't murdered his wife we could have went through with the deal."

"I had hoped you'd have more sense than to act the naïve girl," Harper snapped in response, a sneer appearing on his face. "If you want to get caught and killed, that's how you do it. You let Pretsin go, he takes his wife and adorable daughter and runs, and he gets caught and interrogated because he's too busy worrying about them to run far, and then _we_ get killed. I don't need to tell you any of that, but you still feel the need to pretend there was another way to do it."

"No, I don't need to make excuses for myself. We both killed him. But there was no need for you to become involved in this at any point, and yet you've orchestrated the entire thing. Until I know why, I can never trust you," Regina said, entire body rigid. And Edward had to admit, it was a tense moment, even for him. The details of the situation weren't being shared, but clearly they'd shed some blood before coming to this point. That didn't even seem to be the real point of contention.

"If I hadn't picked you up before the military police, you'd have been interrogated (and that word is always a euphemism, you know). After the interrogation the wardens are usually free to do as they like, and can you imagine what a collection of vicious sociopaths would do with you? You'd be begging for death before the end of the week," Harper said, voice soft and calming. Kirk was listening eagerly; he'd always been fascinated by such conversations and the insight they offered, at least when he wasn't a participant.

"Nobody who can kill as coldly as you did today is going to take a risk like that just to save someone you barely know. I appreciate the help, but I need to know what you want in return."

As he watched Harper contemplate his next answer a trickle of blood dripped down the last step and began pooling on the floor.

"I think at this point," Edward interrupted, "that the only person in this room whose motives can reliably be known are his," he said, pointing to Mirzin, who barely even seemed awake.

"That being said, it appears that the four of us are, for lack of a better phrase, stuck together. We're in the fortunate position of being enemies of the state through no fault of our own, am I correct?" he continued, looking between the two of them.

Harper smiled for the first time since entering the room. "Not quite. I've managed to conceal my identity since re-entering the city. Anybody outside this room who could have identified me is now dead. Pretsin was the last."

"Then we'll have to rely on you for outside information, at least for a while."

Regina looked over, puzzled. "What are you suggesting? Because right now the only option I see for you is finding a way to Ibis Island before Royce and his men all die. We're fucked either way, but I'm not going to stop you."

Oh, that was the logical suggestion, at least from her perspective. But not from his. "There's another way." He ran over to the cupboard and pulled a map of Alvernia from it. "The Ibis Island project was my second attempt, but the first was no less viable."

"Yeah, but you blew it up to fake your death. That was in my original briefing when we were sent to find you," Regina said, her scepticism obvious.

"There was no need to destroy it to do that. The facility was underground, quite small and accessible only by elevator and a small concealed stair in a tunnel system. Royce wasn't officially sanctioned to fund me at all, I later learned. When the Borginians made their offer I took the most valuable components with me and their men caved in both entrances."

"Even if that's true, how does a broken prototype generator buried deep underground help any of us, even you?" she asked. Harper was leaning on the front wall, hands in his pockets, but his eyes were fixed on Kirk. "I don't need to remind you that all three times you've tried to make this Third Energy thing work it's blown up in your face, right?"

He clenched his jaw, the accusation stinging more than he'd expected. "The Stabilizer is the last piece. I was so close when they pushed me into the experiment early."

"You've got some nerve asking what I think you're asking."

Harper turned on her. "I think we should do it. None of you are going to get to Ibis Island undetected, and I don't see much reason to go back and die alone."

"Am I missing something? We finish his work, and then what?"

A loud groan announced Mirzin's return as he pulled himself into a slouch. "The Colonel always planned to use its ability to generate near infinite energy to start a revolution. It would change everything, if only it actually worked." His speech was beginning to slur. Had he taken medication, or was he seriously injured? Perhaps it didn't matter. Regina was reluctant, but he saw right through Harper. He looked disinterested, even amused, but his eyes hadn't left the researcher's face for a second.

"And the weapon you were developing for Borginia?" she asked while she cleaned the blood from a grimacing Mirzin's shoulder.

"Nothing more than the result of letting the generator overload. If you can target that overloaded energy it'll vaporise anything. The only requirements are a targeting system and a functioning Stabilizer device." He was close, closer than he'd been since Borginia.

"And suppose we controlled that power, the four of us?" Harper asked, and Edward began to understand.

He spread his hand to both sides, inviting them to imagine the possibilities. "Well, suppose the Ibis Island generator was functional. That Borginian fleet waiting just off the coast? It could be destroyed in less than a second. We'd have the power to demand anything from anyone, make entire cities vanish in a single night."

"Until they bombed the island and blew your generator to bits," Regina said, making the obvious complaint.

"But nobody knows where _this_ generator is. They're all dead. They'll never find us, or even know who we are. We could play the role of a vengeful god if we chose, dealing out punishments at will. Do you want revenge on Hereson? Destroy the entire command centre. Do you want to remake society? Who can stop you? It's all within our reach, and we either take it or we're hunted down and killed for crimes we didn't even commit. _Is that even a choice?"_ He was nearly laughing at the thought, and especially at how close it all was. They had to join him. How could they not?

The internal conflict was written in Regina's face, but it was decided from the start. She leaned back in the chair and sighed, hands behind her head. The shotgun had been abandoned. "If this is how the world really works, what am I protecting if I refuse? I'll play along, but don't expect me to be your servant. I won't help you with anything I wouldn't do myself."

"Oh, I'm perfectly aware of that. We understand each other well, I'm sure."

"Then I only see one problem left," Harper said, looking at each of them in turn. "Where is this generator, and how do we reach it undetected?"

"It was built under the military port for its access to water, but it was only ever accessible through an elevator in the port and a tunnel system that runs under a residential district adjacent to the port. The elevator shaft was completely caved in, but we should be able to unseal the stairway."

They continued to discuss it for several hours, but only the details of the plan's implementation. All four of them were agreed: they would continue to research Third Energy under Hereson's nose, and when the time came and it was complete? Nothing was said of that.

Mirzin would almost certainly want to support his beloved Colonel, but Kirk had no such love for the man or his methods. He'd never forget the manipulations or the condescension he'd endure at his hands. If Royce wanted his help, he'd be paying a steep price for it.

Regina was more difficult to predict, at least in this, but he couldn't see her committing mass murder under any circumstances. She knew far more about what she didn't want than what she did. Harper was the real problem. Who was he, and what were his goals? Nobody knew. What Kirk did know was that he'd perfectly manipulated events so that the three of them were completely dependent on him. He would need to be watched. It wouldn't do to perfect the generator only to meet the same fate as John Pretsin and be shot in the back of the head when it's least expected.

Even so, what he'd told her on Ibis Island was no less true. He didn't particularly care how his work was used. Which of them got their way would certainly be interesting, but he had no plans to take sides. Third Energy was going to change the world, and watching that happen was all he needed to be satisfied. Despite that, he knew he would rather burn and take the world with him than face defeat and humiliation ever again.


	10. Chapter 10

It had all been advertised as so simple, so necessary. Capturing Ibis Island, repelling the treacherous Borginians; all he had to do, they'd all said, was do his job and it would all be revealed. Well, it had been revealed, and now all he wanted to do was escape back to the life he'd had, but there was no going back. He might have been a poor fit for a raid team, but at least he was able to sleep at night in those days.

The atmosphere on Ibis Island could only be described as oppressive. After the first and only assault by the Borginian fleet they'd received the news from their own ships: Alvernia was under siege from within, and everyone from local dissidents to foreign rebels to traitorous officers had made their declaration of rebellion. He'd sat there with the rest of them, holding that island for reasons they didn't understand against enemies they couldn't see, dealing with poor supplies, searing heat, overcrowded halls, and increasingly tense relations between the senior officers and the rest of them.

That was difficult enough, but it was only after the state funeral for the fifty soldiers who'd been killed earlier than month that he'd realised why they were still there. Nobody had openly said anything at first, but it wasn't hard to see through the official explanations. Colonel Anton Royce and all his men, including all of them who'd never even met the man, had been all but declared traitors. Their exile to Ibis Island was intended to be permanent, and they were all to be punished for his actions. That didn't do much to improve morale, but there wasn't anything to be done about that.

Rick's job hadn't seemed nearly as urgent after that news, but he kept at it anyway just to keep himself focused. Regina had been declared an enemy of the state, and he hadn't even heard from Gail. It had kept him up on more nights than one, just trying to understand why anyone would target her so specifically. News was hard to come by on the island; the destruction of the communications area meant they had to receive on the fleet and then transmit that information to the facility's computers.

With Borginia refusing to attack again and nothing else to do but wait for Royce or Anders to give them some hope, most of the staff not actively defending the facility spent the days trying to distract themselves from their hopeless situation. Floor B3 was still the least populated despite its size, and it hadn't taken long for Rick to set up his makeshift home in the most remote part of the floor, one of the safest rooms in the entire facility and the place leading to the stored components for the Third Energy generator. Rick was one of the few to understand their importance, and he was careful to keep it that way, but after the first week Dylan had asked to join him claiming he couldn't stand the noise upstairs.

He felt someone shake his shoulder and looked away from the array of screens before him. His eyes ached as if he'd been awake for a week but, for all he knew, he really had been awake for a week. Time slipped away in the tunnels, and one day blended into the next without the slightest hint. Cold steel and sterile light were his surroundings; there was no easy way to differentiate between night and day other than by looking at a clock, though the vivid meaning of three in the morning or five in the afternoon seemed less so the longer he stayed underground. How Edward Kirk managed years on the island without going insane was beyond his knowledge.

"Did you hear a single word of what I just said?" a frustrated voice said to his left. Dylan was standing there in his full armour, a rifle strapped to his back.

"Uh, sorry about that. I was a bit…"

Dylan waved his excuses off. "Forget it. I'm needed on the first floor for a while, but you seem pretty out of it. You want me to send someone down?"

Rick smiled at that, but it was a faint smile. "No, I'll be fine. I might go see how our guest is doing."

"What you need to do is sleep, but it's your life. Just don't let her take advantage of you while you're like this."

Rick nodded at the computer screen as the door closed with a gentle thud behind the other man. The woman he'd captured in the attack was the only diversion left to him. They'd captured three saboteurs, and Rick had been given the task of interrogating the one who'd nearly killed him. He wasn't easy to scare, but memories of that frenzied attack in the communications room filled his head at the slightest opportunity. He'd never been closer to dying.

He turned off the entire array of screens. After a month of working he'd done just about all he could with the facility's security systems; lately his work on the system had mostly been done as a habit, something to keep his mind occupied. He'd installed an auto-alarm that tracked the entire security system and notified him of any intrusions, but even that was done from boredom.

The transport hall outside the special weapon storage area was deserted as usual, but he heard movement in the U-shaped storage corridor next to the rooms he'd chosen to live in. It was the natural choice of location for a prison: a small dead end of a room only accessible through a laser shutter. She had privacy behind the back wall and they could pass meals and supplies through the shutter, at least if they were small enough. It occurred to him early on that a facility full of despairing soldiers ought to be kept away from a vulnerable enemy prisoner, especially an attractive woman who'd killed several of their most respected comrades. He'd seen what desperation could make men do more than once while part of Gail's team.

"Hey, Rick, you're not leaving too?" a voice called from behind the shutters.

He hesitated as he always did and walked over to the shutter. She was sitting on a box just behind the shutter as usual, long black hair hiding her expression. Rick wasn't suited to be a jailer and they'd both figured it out within the first week. He'd never believed intimidation or violence would get anything other than lies and hate from someone like her away; fortunately Dylan agreed with his soft methods. After a month the pretence had all but dropped entirely.

"No," he answered. He'd intended to go upstairs, or so he'd told himself, but he always ended up sitting with Dylan and this woman for hours. After Royce's arrival and the news that came with it their identities as military officials seemed irrelevant.

"Good. You ever been in a cell? You might not have tortured me, but the boredom's doing that for you," she said, leaning forward with her head resting in the palm of her hand.

"I've been in a cell for a long time," he replied, voice soft as if he were speaking to himself.

She stared, but his eyes were fixed on the shelving behind her head. What did it even matter if he wasn't treating his role as interrogator seriously? If he'd been lied to his entire life, why should he treat the Borginians are enemies? They were in the same position as he was.

"I suppose you have," she replied, leaving it at that. Rick collapsed into one of two chairs just outside the shutters and leaned his head back against the cold steel wall.

He knew her name, or at least she said it was Melissa Weaver. Lived in a city on the eastern coast of Borginia and was only a year younger than Rick. There was no real reason to believe any of that, but perhaps Rick wasn't his real name either. Sometimes it was hard to remember just who you were. He knew her job description because it was almost identical to his own. He had a fairly solid grasp on her personality and motives. None of that was reliable, but that wasn't too important. None of his friends had ever been entirely honest about themselves, so why should he expect any more from his enemies?

More important was her knowledge of Borginia. Most of the information Rick knew concerning their rival nation was little more than propaganda, but she could speak of her home for hours on end. It was an effective way to ease the tension, anyway. The technology and building techniques used in the research facility were a great deal more impressive than the stone and brick favoured in Alvernia, and she claimed that was becoming the standard for Borginia.

"You think you're going to die here, don't you?" Melissa asked, referencing their hopeless situation. Rick hadn't bothered hiding it, but he still wouldn't look at her. Reminded him too much of himself, and of Regina. It always took him a few minutes to get over that.

He shrugged. "Either we wait here and die or we attack and die. You'll probably be fine if Borginia ever bothers to attack."

Melissa snorted in derision. "Yeah, they make it anywhere near here and I'll get a bullet to the head. I know how it works."

Rick's fist clenched. "I'm not going to let that happen."

She laughed, and he heard the mockery and ignored it. "You don't make any sense, you know that? I was going to kill you, but don't think it would have bothered me to do it. What's it to you if some meathead shoots me?"

"You don't deserve to die and I'm sick of seeing people killed for nothing when I could have done saved them. What you'd do in my place is irrelevant."

"You're a real hero, huh? Well, if you've got a point to prove I won't stop you," she said, rising to her feet and pacing the small entrance. "You sure I can't get a jacket? Even some shoes would be nice if you won't turn the air conditioning off. I'll be less likely to try and escape again if my feet aren't frozen."

"At least you've got somewhere to escape to. And I'll see what I can do about the clothes, but they don't want me giving you _anything_. You're a security risk. Maybe they think you'll hang yourself, I don't really know." He was beginning to feel more like himself. Computers were his life's work, but he'd always needed the company of people. Gail used to consider it a weakness, but they'd rarely agreed on anything. Even so, he knew he was too harsh on Gail. Despite their differences, the older man rarely stopped him doing what he thought was right.

"_I'm_ a security risk? I've been meaning to ask, what happened to the others you captured in that raid? There had to be more than just me. Did _they_ hang themselves?"

He couldn't bring himself to answer. Low supplies and a lack of useability, not to mention a lack of space, had given Lieutenant Colonel Anders all the justification needed to execute them, though officially they'd died while fighting. The other two saboteurs had been sent to the fleet weeks before, and that was the last he'd heard of them.

"Yeah, I figured as much. I'm the only one left?"

He nodded. Why bother denying it?

She sat back down with a dejected sigh. "You intervened to keep me alive? Why bother? Still, thanks for trying. I'll try to return the favour if they ever capture you. And if I'm not dead before then. Not much help, is it?"

Rick couldn't quite laugh, but he managed a smile. He finally realised why he'd spent so much time down here. Her mannerisms, her personality, both reminded him of his time in the academy with Regina. An escape to the past was just what he needed.

And just like with Regina, it was a façade that could vanish in an instant. She ran a hand through her hair, staring at the wall behind Rick. "You know, we all knew the risks, but never really believed we'd ever die. There were five of us, and now it's just me," Melissa murmured, almost as if she couldn't believe it was true.

Rick understood all too well. "There were five of us, and now it's just me," he repeated.

She knew what he was, but he'd never admitted that he was the last of the team. Tom and Cooper were long dead, Regina a fugitive, and Gail… well, he didn't know what to make of Gail. They could take care of themselves, at least. He'd always envied how comfortable they were with being alone.

"What would Borginia have done?"

That confused her, at least for a moment, but the moment of vulnerability had vanished as if it had never been there. "With the prisoners, you mean? Standard policy is to keep them and trade for our own. Not that we get in half as many wars as you do. I might have tried to kill you, but you weren't a prisoner, and that other guy with the really grey eyes nearly stuck a knife into my stomach before you showed up. What happened to him anyway?"

It was a question he'd often considered, but there was no way to know. Major Harper had spent two days in the hospital, but he was gone by the end of the first week that passed. They'd spoken briefly and Rick had given him a message for Regina if he saw her. He'd wanted to tell her so much more than he had, but entrusting a man he hardly knew with sensitive information was an absurd idea.

"He's probably dead. Nobody's heard from any of the officers left in the city for a month, including him," Rick said, slowly and deliberately. He could never be sure, but felt uncomfortable even hinting that Regina had probably been killed.

They both remained silent for a moment, concerned only with their own thoughts. The low hum of machinery and the laser shutters filled the otherwise silent passage, but their respite was soon interrupted by the grind of the transport shutter rolling up, filling the passage with a metallic echo.

Dylan ducked under the door and waved at them as he approached carrying a bag. The passage filled with the smell of spices and garlic, drawing Melissa's attention instantly and, despite his lethargy, Rick had to admit he needed to eat.

"You're back?" Rick asked as the other man took the other seat. "I didn't know it was time for lunch already."

Dylan glanced at the prisoner and the two of them seemed to be restraining laughter. "Rick, you know it just hit midnight, right? Lunch?"

"Are you sure about that? I could have sworn," he began, but he stopped protesting after Dylan threw his watch over. "Right. Guess I lost track of time," he admitted, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment.

"A bowl of lentil curry will fix that. That's all that's on the menu for the next three days," Dylan said, using both hands to carefully slide a container through the laser shutter without burning himself.

"Who's complaining? Your chef knows what spices are; how rare is that?" Melissa asked, sitting back on the makeshift seat with her share of their late dinner. Late night dinners on floor B3 had become a ritual for Rick and Dylan. Both men appreciated the company and the chance to escape the noise and mess on the floors above. They were also the only two allowed access to the prisoner, a request granted by the lieutenant colonel as a favour for their support. To keep it that way Rick had modified the laser shutters, disconnecting them from the main network and ensuring only he and Dylan could open them.

"How's it going upstairs?" Rick asked as they ate.

"Same as usual. Everybody's pissed off and nobody knows what to do. Anders and Royce have been locked up in that lecture hall all night, and you can imagine the rumours. You know half the men and plenty of the women in this facility have had their eyes on her for months."

"She's your boss, right? Or one of them. What's the appeal?" their guest asked. She'd finished half the curry before Rick had even touched his.

"Well," Dylan replied, listing points on his fingers, "she's powerful, attractive, ambitious, and dangerous. I think that's enough to get the fantasies started."

"She's also completely amoral. I don't think she cares for anything or anyone, and that includes us," Rick said, his recently acquired disdain for their leader obvious to both of them.

"How else do you think she made it to lieutenant colonel before thirty-five? She and Royce might hate central command for a lot of things, but not for sexism. Even General Hereson couldn't stop praising her up after the way she handled those territory disputes in the north."

Rick knew all too well how she'd handled them. He'd taken the opportunity to learn as much about his commanders as possible, and he wasn't fond of what he'd learned. "That's enough about her," he muttered, looking through the shutters. She looked back, the details of her face obscured by the bright red beams separating them.

"Is sexism a problem in Borginia?" he asked. Learning what differentiated their nations was fascinating, and he'd likely never have a better opportunity.

She shook her head. "Not really, no. At least not openly."

"What about poverty?"

"It exists, but not like you said it does where you come from. You're not left to starve if you can't work, anyway. Extreme wealth or poverty are pretty rare, I think."

"Rick, I'm too tired to get into politics again," Dylan interrupted. "We'd be better off trying to find a way out of here. Forget it all and start over somewhere new. Neither of us is on a wanted poster yet."

It was something they'd joked about more than once. In particular he'd thought of returning to Merestan and finding Regina. He owed her that much, especially if, as often occurred to him in his darkest moments, his prying into classified information and asking her to help was the excuse they'd used to condemn her.

"What would you do if you did leave?" Rick asked, looking at his friend's grave expression.

Inexplicably enough, Dylan laughed at that. "I don't have the first idea. My entire life I've been told what to do. Might be nice to have the freedom to find out, but what do I know about that? How about you?"

"I don't think I would leave. There's nothing for me out there."

Dylan stood up and stretched. He could never sit still for long. "So why stay? Why bother fighting for… what?"

Rick shrugged again, unwilling to answer. He didn't really have an answer. "And you?" he asked, looking through the bright red beams. "Why do you fight?"

Melissa spoke again, the bitterness in her voice startling them both. "Figures that none of you would even be able to guess. How about when the fighting started over the rights to the islands in the central sea? Your people wanted mining rights and to use them as a military outpost, but we wouldn't allow it."

"I was just a kid when that happened," Dylan objected. "They said your people were hostile from the start, refusing to even negotiate. One of our most respected diplomats was assassinated when he tried."

"How could we be hostile? Borginia's an island nation without even a fifth of the population of your country. We didn't even try to fight back, but it didn't matter to them. Even the suggestion of resistance was enough justification."

"Enough justification for what?"

Rick raised his hand, interrupting them both. He really was more exhausted than he'd ever been in his life. "I know what happened. Gail was there, and I saw it when I read his file." And it was true. After a particularly memorable show of callousness on a mission, Rick had stolen his file from the SORT servers to try and understand why he was so harsh.

Dylan looked between the two of them. "What are you saying, Rick?"

"We couldn't just invade without reason, but the rights to the islands were disputed. So they sent SORT teams to each island to kill and sabotage until they couldn't take it anymore. Before long the people rioted, blaming us for the murders despite their lack of proof," he replied, rubbing his eyes to avoid looking at either of them.

"And that's when they said we couldn't keep the peace, that we didn't have the ability to control land so far from our shores. They lined up every second person and shot them, and the rest were little better than slaves. We hadn't done anything, but it didn't matter," she continued, voice almost emotionless while she gazed into the steel wall.

Dylan fell back into his seat, face twisted into a grimace. "Only a monster would come up with such a plan."

"You are fortunate to still think that way," a quiet voice said from the right. A tall man stood just past the half-open door, one hand in the pocket of his jacket. His muscular frame was decidedly leaner than it had been when they'd first met and his expression was less sure, but it still conveyed an unmistakable air of authority. A woman stood behind, stern and silent.

Dylan rose to his feet immediately and threw a salute. Rick couldn't be bothered, so he remained in the seat.

"Rick, who is it?" Melissa asked, craning her head to see past the shutters and burning off a lock of hair in the process.

Anton Royce joined them by the shutter. "How should I answer that?" He looked at Dylan and hesitated, glancing back at the woman who'd followed him in. "There's no benefit in hiding it. I'm your monster, Lieutenant Morton."

"You can't be serious," Dylan said, taking a step back toward the shutter.

"I've rarely been more serious. I was there, and I'm as much to blame for that atrocity as any of the men who carried it out. Would you like me to describe the details? Your young friend can confirm their accuracy, I suspect."

"Don't bother. And you have the nerve to claim you're working to change the world for the better?" Rick asked, rising to his feet and looking at the man he'd once hoped felt as he did. His hand trembled at his side and the woman at the entrance stepped forward with her pistol raised.

"On the contrary, it is precisely because I have seen and done what I have that I understand why our society cannot be allowed to remain as it is." Royce replied, losing his authoritative tone for the first time.

"Remove your weapons," the woman ordered. Rick did so, placing his pistol on the floor, but Melissa's hand twisted itself through the shutter and snatched Dylan's handgun from its holster before pushing him back. She hissed in pain and Rick saw a burned patch of skin on her forearm.

Anders attempted to pull the Colonel away from the shutter, but he resisted and remained where he was.

"You were there. You know what we did. You have the right to kill me, but I'm only a symptom of the disease," he said, his pale blue eyes meeting her intense glare without flinching.

"I always pictured you as a monster, but you're not so frightening in person," she said, speaking as if only to herself. "Maybe it's worse that you're just a man." The pistol was halfway off the floor, but Anders was sure to kill her the moment she raised the gun.

"The worst monsters are men. Still, in my defence I was a young lieutenant at the time, and I didn't expect it to become what it did. I do vividly recall how _spontaneous_ it all was. None of us went in intending to massacre half the population, but once it started nobody raised their voice in protest. It operated like a well-oiled machine, not a collection of individuals. It always is."

"So what _did_ you expect, murderer?"

He thought about that for a moment. "At the time, very little. Soldiers do as they're told, yes? It was only after I'd stained myself with that atrocity and more that I realised it couldn't continue. Strange as it is, I'd hoped to use the power with which I'd been rewarded to implement those changes, power earned through more massacres than that."

Rick stared at him in a new light. "I don't know how you can go on if you sat back and let that happen."

"I confess, I did consider taking my own life more than once, but it seemed a waste of resources. If every man who despises our way of doing things kills himself, who's left to fight against it?"

"Drop the weapon, Borginian," Anders ordered, her voice even firmer than before.

She looked between the four of them, eyes wild and desperate. Royce waited silently, face completely calm. Dylan stood by the wall as if paralysed; he had so little experience with problems that he could do nothing to fix.

Rick turned around and looked at the miserable woman before him. "Killing an unarmed, repentant man makes you no better than he was." he said to her. "What do you think it's going to change?"

The look in her face as she held that gun, debating whether to raise it and shoot Royce even if it meant her death, would never him. Her hands shook for a moment, but she made her decision, throwing the weapon to the floor and falling back onto the seat with her head in her hands. It disgusted him that anyone could be forced into such a situation. Dylan reached under the last beam and dragged it back, his face red from embarrassment.

Royce's gaze shifted to Rick. "It's an ideal I've never been able to live by, but I do believe you're right."

"Now that the young lady has made her decision, one perhaps more merciful than I deserved," he continued, "I think it's time that I tried to live up to my reputation. I have a plan. But it's not going to work without her help." He pointed at Melissa, who stared back in disbelief.

"You're surprised? We're trapped between a Borginian fleet and Hereson's promise to kill us all should we attempt a return to Alvernia. Hereson will never reconsider his decision, and it seems all my friends in Merestan have been lined up and shot, or at the very best are hiding in some tunnel where they'll be of no use to anyone. Therefore we must turn to Borginia. For that I need to give them a reason to believe we are not the monsters they so clearly believe we are." He said it as if it was obvious, and Rick had to admit there weren't many alternatives.

"And what reason is that?" she asked, alternating between uncontrollable staring at the Colonel and averting his gaze entirely.

"Well, we're not really Alvernian soldiers anymore, are we? We're traitorous rebels who want to overthrow the system." He shrugged. "You've been well-treated by these two, I presume? The lieutenant colonel tells me they've been very protective, and you must realise there are _many_ soldiers who'd have handled your imprisonment in an entirely different manner, one not to your benefit. You two are perfect representatives of the culture I want to encourage," Royce said, clapping Dylan on the shoulder.

"When I asked them to interrogate her I didn't expect them to be quite so pleasant, but it does seem to have worked," Anders said.

"Of course it has. Torture and cruelty doesn't get you honesty and cooperation, and those are what we need. I thought we agreed your methods would soften? You're not on the northern border anymore."

Anders' blank face twitched as if she was annoyed, but she said nothing.

"Why should I lift a finger to help you?" Melissa asked, shooting a filthy look at Anders. Rick could hardly blame her there; for all Royce's talk, his choice of second-in-command was inexplicable.

"If you could convince them to meet with me, I may be able to negotiate an alliance against Alvernian command. Without your support, I suppose we'll all have to wait here until starvation or bullets finish us off. It's entirely up to you." Royce sat down in Dylan's abandoned seat, crossed his legs, and waited.

It didn't take much more than that. She agreed to speak to the fleet commander on his behalf and arrange a meeting at the very least. Rick wasn't particularly surprised. None of them had much hope of leaving alive without the help of that fleet, and that included her.

After her agreement to work with him, at least on that, Royce stood back up. He'd got what he wanted, clearly. "I'll return tomorrow once some of the details have been arranged. I apologise for this, but you'll have to remain a prisoner officially. There are likely several spies who would notice your freedom, and that could ruin everything." He turned away and ducked his head under the exit shutter before turning back. "Oh, and I appreciate that you didn't shoot me. Morton, could I have a word?"

Dylan holstered his stolen pistol, met Rick's eyes and shrugged as he left to follow Royce.

He stood at the entrance with Anders and watched them leave. Being alone with her always made him uncomfortable. "This all comes down to her," Anders said, her cold gaze focused directed on Rick. She spoke softly enough that only he could hear. "And you."

"What do you mean _me_?" Rick asked in a whisper. "I'm just the tech guy, nothing more."

"Don't pretend you don't understand me. You haven't spent a month with this girl for nothing. She won't admit it, but she considers you a friend. Anybody in her position would cling onto someone like you for support, and so she has. Do not let that go to waste," Anders said. She left the same way Royce and Dylan did without another word.

Rick stood for some time after they left, but the exhaustion caught up and he sank down against the cold wall. It wasn't much, but for the first time in a month he saw the slightest reason for hope. He'd always wished he could do something to change his country, to fix the rot that infested everything from its leaders to its culture. Now he'd been given the chance and he didn't know if he could. It'd always been much cleaner in his dreams, much less difficult to determine who was right and what had to be done.

Before long true tiredness set in and he found himself struggling to stay awake. It was a hopeless struggle, but he managed to stumble back into the storage room before collapsing on his makeshift bed under the cool blue light.


	11. Chapter 11

It was a moment any soldier would have anticipated with eagerness and pride, but as he waited in the luxurious reception area, eyes fixed on the solid mahogany door behind the desk, Gail found neither emotion accurately described his thoughts.

When he'd been informed of his commanding officer's treachery there was only one thing he could have done. Anton Royce had been overseeing his operations for over a decade, and he'd considered the man as close to a friend as he had among the military.

It wasn't even the betrayal that stung the most, but the realisation that an entire rebellion had grown under his watch. Royce, half his officers, and a great number of ordinary soldiers had all conspired to overthrow the legitimate authorities, and _he_ hadn't suspected a thing. To pride yourself on professionalism and not have seen that coming? The signs had been there for a long time and he'd missed them all.

No, he considered, perhaps that wasn't the problem. Royce was a high ranking officer, popular with the public, and renowned for his ability to scheme, something Gail had often seen in person. Why should he accept responsibility for a man like that? It was _their_ treachery that kept him awake at night.

When he was promoted to the position of squad leader he'd was given the task of choosing and training his own recruits, a favour granted in recognition of his own ability. Tom was chosen for his skills as an infiltrator and those skills were honed by Gail's training. He and Cooper died in the field from a threat nobody could have anticipated, but there was nothing shameful in that. Nobody went into espionage expecting to live a long life, even if they never would admit it.

Rick was easily the most talented of the recruits, at least academically. His abilities with security systems exceeded those of half his instructors the day he arrived, and Gail had chosen him despite knowing they would never be close. As countless situations had proven since, his intuition was completely accurate. No technological barrier was insurmountable for the young prodigy and, indeed, he and Gail could barely stand to be in the same room. He'd allowed Rick to indulge his sense of ethics as much as he could despite that. But even that wasn't the problem. Rick had been caught in the middle of his commander's treachery; even if he privately thought the young officer would willingly rebel if given the opportunity, it was a situation that had been forced on him.

No, Rick's position was understandable. It was rational, it flowed from events beyond his control and was influenced by his ethics. She was the reason he couldn't rest. Regina had been a point of personal pride for him. She'd taken any challenge he had to offer without complaint; not only that, but she'd excelled at those challenges to a degree he hadn't seen since his own youth. In the earliest days she'd been confronted by a system and by peers who refused to believe a woman could excel at their work, but one by one she'd bested and humiliated all of them. He'd stood back and watched, and what he saw surprised him.

It was because of her that he adopted the impersonal approach to command that he did. She was capable enough and intelligent enough to work independently by his side, and not as a subordinate who needed constant supervision. She was one of the only people he'd known who ever came close to understanding who he was. It was intuitive. She'd also understood that they were there to complete an objective, and that their own objections were irrelevant. That there was no room for argument, no freedom to judge your orders. Or so he'd thought. Yet unlike with Rick, there was little doubt remaining that she was anything but a traitor.

The door opened with a soft creak of its golden hinges and a redheaded man left, nodding at Gail as he passed the guards standing by the exit.

"General Hereson will see you now," the receptionist said, standing at the side of the door. He was unarmed; he'd offered the handgun he usually carried to the guards at the entrance to the seventh floor, but they still checked for concealed weapons. Perfectly understandable, of course. It's what he'd have done in their place.

Gail pushed past her and entered the office. Its high walls were covered in bookshelves, the floor made of the finest polished floorboards he'd ever seen, and the lighting completely natural, the afternoon sun shining through two curved windows on the eastern side of the room. An ornately carved desk stood at far end, but its owner was seated on a leather couch in the centre of the room. Such extravagance was a rare sight in Merestan, and he couldn't help but take in every detail as he approached the centre of the room.

"I'm glad you decided to accept my invitation," the couch's occupant said, rising to his feet and holding his hand out to shake Gail's before gesturing at another couch across from his. A small table lay between the two with a tray carrying a flagon of whiskey and two glasses set upon it.

Gail took the offered seat, already disoriented by the excessive familiarity being shown by the older man. An invitation from a man with Hereson's power was never optional, regardless of how it was worded.

Neither of them spoke for a brief moment. James Hereson was difficult to judge from his appearance. He was an older man, nearly sixty, and it showed. His hair and moustache were all but completely grey, but his eyes were bright and focused, and Gail had the distinct impression every part of him was being evaluated and judged in a brief few seconds.

Hereson poured them both a glass of whiskey. "Most men, I find, are most responsive after I establish some degree of friendship between us. Not much, you understand, but just enough to get the right response. You are not one of those men, and I won't insult you by wasting your time in that manner."

Gail tried, but there was no response to that. Even so, some instinct in the back of his head was warning him that the tactic had simply been adjusted. Worse, he realised the man had judged him well to start with blunt honesty whether it was genuine or not.

"I would like you to briefly tell me your thoughts on our security situation from your perspective as an espionage officer."

Professional discussions were the easiest discussions. He almost sighed in relief, especially because he already had the answers to that request. "There are three problems that need to be resolved." He held up a gloved hand. "The first is Royce. Your plan to exile him and trap him between us and Borginia worked, but he's still alive and commands several thousand experienced soldiers. A man like that isn't going to give up easily, and if he does escape and openly rebel he could rally more support while we're weak."

"He won't escape, I assure you. That won't be your concern in any case. The other two?"

"The second is the power vacuum left by their absence. Many of the most skilled and experienced officers in the west have betrayed us, and once the rest realise they have the opportunity to replace them it could get ugly. Infighting is the last thing we need right now."

Hereson refilled his glass. "You're right, of course, and steps will be taken to remedy that problem. At least for now we can keep the upcoming vacancies quiet. Many of Royce's staff didn't leave for Ibis Island with him, did you know?"

"They may be able to help find the others," Gail suggested, but Hereson waved that idea down. "My thought was that they'd stayed here to help _him_, or at least some of them. They've all been executed in any case. Why take the risk?"

He couldn't say he was surprised. "The final problem comes from within," Gail continued. "Considering all our information on the insurgencies in this city came from Anton Royce's office, you need to consider that large portions of it have been altered to suit his needs. What is clear is that there are well-funded and heavily-armed groups spread throughout both this city and the surrounding areas. Expect more activity from them when Royce's betrayal goes public."

"It's the logical thing to suggest, but I don't believe Royce was lying when he revealed Borginia was funding the largest of these groups." Hereson smiled and set his empty glass down. "Even if he was lying, it's far too advantageous a lie to contradict. The people need an enemy, and Borginia has always been a useful scapegoat. Turn their attention out over the western sea and they'll forget their enemies here." He paused and met Gail's eyes. "But I forgot who I was speaking to. There's no need to explain that to you, is there?"

Gail remained silent. He'd learned early in his career never to take the bait.

Hereson sighed. "Your analysis of the situation was excellent, as I'd expected, but you must realise you've forgotten a rather important detail."

There was no point in pretending he didn't know what the man was referring to. "You're referring to the eight traitors still in the city."

"I'll let you in on a secret. Only four of those people were important; the other four are there to divert attention. Most of them were already dead when we made the story public."

"And you think these four are threatening enough to warrant your personal attention?" He already knew the answer.

"I don't have the time to make that assessment," Hereson replied, rising to his feet. "Which he why you're here," he said as he walked toward the desk at the back. The older man gestured at Gail to join him.

"Ordinarily I wouldn't be concerned, but something about these people isn't right. It's like a puzzle except the pieces just don't fit together. You must understand my concerns," he continued, sitting in the chair behind the desk.

Gail had thought the exact same thing more than once, but his only concern had been Regina. That last meeting during the funeral procession had remained in his memory as vividly as if it'd happened the day before. Nothing Dmitri Mirzin or Andrea Kesler or any of the other near faceless names on that list had done could come close to bothering him the way she did. Nothing had been heard from them in weeks in any case.

"You're referring to the day of the ceremony," Gail stated, meeting the senior officer's gaze without a hint of emotion.

"We'd planned to take your protégé in for questioning, as you knew at the time, but after speaking with you she disappeared entirely. Never did seem quite right, but don't be alarmed. I wouldn't doubt your loyalty." The older man's knowing smile unnerved him.

"As you agreed with my assistant the day before, she'd be given the chance to renounce any allegiance to Royce or his mutinous brigade. We don't usually offer pardons so easily, but she hadn't been included in his inner circle yet and you'd earned a favour or two. Instead she uses her considerable skills honed under your command to hunt down and butcher no less than four people, though we had hoped the fourth would turn up alive."

"Why are you bringing this up now, sir?"

Hereson leaned across the desk. "Because we found John Pretsin. They say it wasn't easy to identify him after a few weeks of decomposing, but he'd been shot in the back of the head just like the others."

Gail tried to respond but was stopped before he could even open his mouth. "Somehow she went from obliviously unaware to knowing both what had happened and who needed to die within the space of an hour. We must assume the two men seen with her are responsible, but nobody has the first idea who they might be."

"What do you need me to do?" That was why he was there, surely. He'd been to more unofficial briefings than official, and this was certainly one of them.

"I need you to find this woman. I need you to find all of these people and either bring them in or kill them. If your own abilities are an indicator then the damage she could potentially do is incalculable. Better protected men than me have had their throats slit while they sleep."

He drew on all his experience and pushed the emotions that came to the side where they could do no harm. "And the others?"

"Mirzin and Kesler need to die. Between them they could arrange any number of difficulties for us, and Kesler is a skilled infantry commander. My analysts tell me Mirzin was likely injured and forced into hiding, so don't waste the opportunity to get rid of him. Also, this is tentative but the persistent reports of men in grey associated with these people lead me to believe they're not alone. The fourth man was captured and killed two weeks ago, but he knew nothing of the others. Concentrate on these three and their associates, particularly the two with her on the day of Pretsin's death."

"Understood. I'll need access to more information than I currently have," Gail began before being cut off again.

"You'll have it. Information, funding, and authority. I'm placing you at the head of your own taskforce, so feel free to use whatever methods you see fit. Recruit whoever you need, break the law if you must. All I care about are the results, you understand? My assistant will set things up; all you need to do is investigate."

And that was how he came to find himself hunched over a desk in the same hotel Regina had been staying at before her betrayal. He'd chosen the location because, as far as he could tell, her activity had been centred in the western coast district, and that was the first place he would investigate. Subtlety had been another priority, but the redheaded man across from him had ruined any hope of keeping his connection to the government a secret.

It seemed as if every second person they met recognised Hereson's assistant for who he was. Not surprising when his face was on every news source making official statements every second day. Richard Morrent the celebrity was a nuisance he had little choice but to accept. He also knew Morrent was watching him on Hereson's behalf, but he didn't take it personally.

"So you're sure you don't want anyone else? I don't know where the money's coming from, but the budget for this operation is ridiculous." Richard asked, raising an eyebrow. He picked up a stack of personnel files and shook them.

Gail shook his head. "I don't need anyone else. If I do, I'll let you know."

"Suit yourself. You plan to find all these people alone?" he asked, lighting his third cigarette and earning a look of scorn from Gail.

"They're all connected. Find one, use them to find the rest. Start with the obvious target and lure them out."

"And who's the obvious target?"

"That's what I need to find out." He pointed at a map of the known hideouts and crime scenes associated with the targets. "The best lead we have right now is the murder of John Pretsin."

Richard shrugged, clearly not convinced. "It's been a month. The guy was informing on them; they found out and," he slammed his hand on the desk for dramatic effect, "made sure he wasn't going to try that again."

Gail sighed. Regina would have understood without the explanation. Win or lose, there'd be no pleasure in this assignment. "Sloppy analysis. Pretsin met with the general's secretary to hand over the last in a series of documents. Pretsin, the secretary, both her security guards, and the man's wife. All of them were killed and the package was stolen."

"And why are these documents so important? You know he was also supposed to kill that scientist Royce was hiding, that's if he wasn't dead anyway. All the general wanted was proof and the deal was done."

Without knowing it he'd touched on what concerned Gail most. He was one of the few to know what Kirk had been working on, and what it could do. The evidence suggested he'd been buried alive deep under the foundry Royce had been using as a base. He recalled what Regina had told him, but she hadn't specified whether she and Mirzin had escaped _with_ Kirk or whether he'd been left inside.

Gail also knew Regina wouldn't have killed two innocent women just because they'd seen her face. Not when her cover had already been blown. The secretary knew whatever they were trying to hide, but the wife? He looked out the window at the busy street below. Could it be that the men she was with were trying to hide their identities? They would have to recognisable if that were the case. It seemed unlikely, but Kirk himself may have been one of the two, though the witness report claimed the man who may have been Kirk had black hair.

The only way to find out would be to find and interrogate either of them. Still, he knew Regina, and he knew she wouldn't have left Kirk to be captured if she was there to prevent it. If that was the case, was she _helping_ him? After Ibis Island it almost seemed too ridiculous an idea to consider, but the evidence he had suggested it was a real possibility.

"Pretsin was killed only a short time after the others, correct?"

Morrent nodded, reaching to light a fourth cigarette before Gail stopped him. "That means Regina and her new friends must have went directly from his apartment to the warehouse where we found the corpse."

"So?"

"The deal was done when he proved Kirk was dead. He went directly to that warehouse after the meeting with Hereson's secretary. Kirk was likely hiding there, and that could put quite a bit of what we know about these murders in a different light. Was Kirk in the warehouse, or was he one of the two men? Get the car; we need to examine both locations."

"You know I've got work to do other than this, right?" Richard asked. Gail stared at him for a moment and left without a word. They were at the warehouse within twenty minutes. Two armed officials patrolled the site, but Gail's new authority made it much easier to cut through the bureaucracy.

"It's an ordinary warehouse, sir, except for the two shipping containers at the back. The second from the back wall is there to conceal a stairway leading to a basement floor," the woman in charge of security told him as he entered the building, pointing at a crimson container through the gloomy lighting.

As she said, the container opened onto the back wall and a sloping tunnel leading underground. The smell as he entered the basement was one of the most putrid things he'd ever had the misfortune to encounter. The scent of decaying flesh was never particularly pleasant, but this was so foul he could almost feel it attaching itself to his clothes and skin. Morrent jumped back, covering his face with his sleeve and gagging. Gail had no time for drama, so he dragged the assistant past the corpse and used all his willpower not to show any signs that the stench was having a similar effect on him.

Coagulated blood formed a trail from the corpse to a dried pool on the floor where the stairs ended. They emerged in a cramped room, brightly lit and painted in the most absurd baby-blue. A small television lay on a table in the centre of the room with enough seats for four people, notable because a small wooden chair had been dragged over to make more room. An open cupboard, prominent map of Merestan, and a small collection of books were the only other notable items that he saw.

Richard looked at the shabby books with a sneer while Gail examined the couch. The cushion on the left side was rough and stained. Someone had been bleeding onto it, but it wasn't John Pretsin. He looked over his shoulder at the assistant and pointed at the cushion. "Have you checked this for physical evidence? Blood, hair, skin?"

"Yeah, you think they'd let us in here before that was done? Results should be in," he paused to think, "Well, it depends on how 'urgent' you make the labs think it is,

"This is for an investigation ordered by the highest ranking man in the city." Was Morrent deliberately trying to waste his time?

"Right. Don't worry, I'll handle it. They just need a bit of financial lubrication, you know? Like I said, the budget can handle it." Richard smiled, assuring him again that it was how things were done. How Hereson put up with that kind of corruption he'd never know.

The complex was surprisingly small. Only a few rooms, most of which were set up for medical purposes, were large enough to be noteworthy. That proved to him that this was where the survivors from the foundry had to have been taken. No personal items were present, but they may simply have been taken when the residents left. Regina would never have left such obvious evidence.

"I'm done. Send the results of the analysis directly to me, no matter the time, understood? We'll check Pretsin's apartment next."

Morrent looked ready to protest, but he was learning. Within ten minutes they'd parked his state issued car by the side of a five storey apartment building. The cracked and broken bricks around the base of the complex were the first of many indicators that John Pretsin had been struggling financially for a long time. "Now you understand why he took the general's offer," Richard said, brushing his hand over the dusty window outside the lobby.

Gail's hand was on the door handle, but he stopped and looked at the surrounding street before entering. A similar building with an additional two stories stood directly across from the apartments, though most of the properties further down the street were commercial, not residential. "The report said the driver of the secretary's car was shot in the head, right?"

"Yeah. No way to prove it, but the sniper had to be either in that building," Richard said, pointing at the larger complex, "or at least on the rooftop. Could we hurry this up? I've still got to prepare for this big address tomorrow night. They're executing some rebels or something. Fourth floor, apartment B."

The inside of the lobby was even less inspiring than the outside. It was a safe bet that the reception desk hadn't been manned for years, the wallpaper was peeling, and he'd have been more willing to fight all the targets he was chasing at once than risk a ride in the elevator.

But Gail was surprised by how well maintained the fourth floor was compared to those below. Someone had taken the time to keep the hall clean and the wallpaper was fresh. There were even healthy plants in the corners. He knocked on the door, but would've been surprised if anyone answered. More likely than not the place was abandoned. People never liked to live in a place that had seen the violence Pretsin's home had.

"Right. They never gave me the key to this place. You think the manager's around here?" Richard asked, looking around at the other doors.

No time for that nonsense; there was always a more direct solution. The door caved in with a loud bang and collapsed on the floor of a once pristine living room. "Well, that's one way to open a door. I'm going to have to hire an assistant, I swear," Richard muttered as they stepped into the room. The first thing he noticed was the stained carpet by the window. He recalled the photographs taken of the secretary's corpse, face almost unrecognisable. Morrent's eyes darted around the room focusing on anything other than the window.

"Something wrong?"

"I'm just not used to this kind of thing. Executing four people like it was nothing," Richard replied with an evasive shrug. He sat in one of the dining table seats and pulled an apple from a ceramic bowl.

"Did you know her?" Gail asked as he looked through a stack of paperwork on the table.

"Huh? I'm the general's personal assistant, she was his secretary. Of course I knew her."

"That's not what I was asking."

"I don't see how that's even remotely relevant," Richard replied, and Gail could hear the irritation in his voice.

"Then you're not paying attention." He took the seat across from the increasingly nervous man. "Am I right in saying only Hereson, his secretary, you, and Pretsin himself were aware of this little deal?"

"Yeah. Nobody else needed to know. What's this even about?"

Was he being this difficult for a reason, Gail wondered? "Regina didn't find out about this by herself. She went to the hotel we're working from knowing none of it, and when she left she knew it all. Someone gave the deal away, and the general's not going to ruin his own plan, is he? So if I believe that you didn't tell anyone, and for the moment I do, that means this woman or Pretsin told somebody else. That somebody came back and did this, and they convinced her to come with them," he finished, waving at the two stained patches of carpet.

"Yeah, I think I see what you mean. They kidnapped his wife to make her talk, but how did they know who to target?"

"Right. And nobody with his family's future on the line is going to admit that he's betrayed his colleagues and is going to assassinate a scientist who's already supposed to be dead, especially not someone with no social life outside work."

He leaned in closer as if he was going to reveal a secret. "So now you know why I need to know just how close you two were. Close enough to give me a list of her friends?"

Richard remained silent for a long moment, eyes glancing over at the window as if he were drawn to it. "Look, I know it's not allowed, but we had a bit of a _thing_, you know?"

"Romantic relationship?" He'd hoped for something like that. Hereson's assistant was charismatic and attractive; more importantly, he was unattached.

"Not quite romantic, we weren't going to push the rules that far, but we spent some time together." He avoided Gail's eyes and hastened to change the subject. "Anyway, she was kind of quiet. Worked a lot, didn't have many friends. Two childhood friends I met and not many others."

"Who are the others?"

"Her best friend's husband, he runs a bar in the south, and some guy she said she dated once. Mike, maybe. Or just Michael. Wouldn't talk about him much anyway, not that I usually ask about that kind of thing."

Gail stared at the fruit bowl, deep in thought. It wasn't much to go on. The childhood friends were unlikely suspects, but he'd have them looked into anyway. The husband with a bar in the south didn't seem particularly suspicious; none of the targets had ever been seen in that part of the city. The ex-boyfriend wasn't likely to turn up results either, but if those were her only four friends there was a chance.

"I want files on all of them by tonight, particularly the ex-boyfriend. And have this place searched. Everything from the walls to under the carpet; we need to know if any documents are still hidden here. Regina wouldn't have had time to conduct a thorough search before the police arrived."

Richard sank into his chair with a groan. "If you worked your friend this hard it's no wonder she gave it up to go rebel. Look, I'll find someone to do this administrative stuff for you, alright? Anything else?"

Gail's gaze hadn't moved. "Yeah, there is something else." He held up an apple from the bowl. "Notice anything?"

"Looks pretty good." And indeed it did. "Wait. I get it. Who's been putting fresh fruit here if nobody's been home for a month?"

"I don't know, something you neglected to mention? That's becoming a habit already, isn't it?" Gail stood up and looked back into the hall outside. A young woman stood at the top of the stairs, almost frozen on the spot. He wasn't a fool; there was only one person it could be, but the urge to break something from frustration was becoming quite strong. Not at all how he'd hoped to handle this meeting.

Morrent jumped out of his seat. "I swear, I had no idea she still lived here. Who'd stay in a house where this happened?" he murmured animatedly into Gail's ear, waving at the stained carpet.

The girl turned as if to run, but her gaze fixed on Morrent and she reconsidered, fear evidently turning to confusion. Gail remained still, perfectly aware the slightest movement could give her reason to flee. In his youth he'd once spent a month trying to look less intimidating, but his efforts weren't rewarded. The perpetual scowl was there to stay.

Confusion was turning to anger as she cautiously approached, he could tell. "I know you," she cried, pointing an accusing finger at his red-haired companion. "You'd better have a good explanation for this. How do you think I'm going to get this fixed?" The anger was retreating, replaced by desperation and despair. Observing people's emotions usually told him how to best approach a situation, but he'd spent most of his career in the field, not breaking into young girls' apartments.

Richard entered damage control mode, but he seemed too flustered to make it work. "This is a complete misunderstanding, we had no idea you still lived here," he said, looking at the door as if debating whether he could fix it. Was there anything he could actually do right, Gail wondered.

"Is that so? Then you'll have no objections to buying me a new door. Now what do you want this time, Morrent?" She was trying not to be threatened by their presence, Gail knew, but he also knew it was an act. She'd stopped in the hall and was positioned to run if necessary. Smart move, really. She wouldn't be the first or the last relative of a disgraced officer to face an accidental death.

Gail moved forward, deliberately keeping his hands away from the weapons at his hip. "You must be John Pretsin's daughter. We're investigating your father's death."

She remained still for a moment, likely debating whether to run. It wasn't much of a choice. Her posture slumped and she stepped through the door. Not a great resemblance to her father, all he considered. Angular face, long black hair, and an expression that almost seemed mocking even when she wasn't looking at anything in particular. She dumped a heavy backpack next to the table.

"Yes, I'm Miranda Pretsin. Only child of two murdered parents." She pulled the end chair of the dining table out with her foot and collapsed into it, gaze shifting from the general's assistant to Gail. "Feel free to make yourselves at home. Well, you've already done that. What do you want, exactly? If you were going to kill me you'd have done it by now, but I won't mind too much if you change your mind."

He sat back down but remained silent. He knew the victim had a daughter, but she'd been on the other side of the city when her parents were murdered and hadn't stood out as being particularly important.

"Hold on," Miranda said, looking back at Gail as if alarmed. "Everyone knows who killed my parents. Her face has been on the news for a month, she's one of the most wanted terrorists in the city. So what's someone like you," she continued, waving at Gail, "doing looking around this dump?"

Was there a risk in being honest? He didn't think so. If the same people who'd executed her parents found out he was trying to find them they might just come directly to him. "This woman," he began, jaw clenching as he said it, "is only one of a larger group. My job is to find this group and destroy it. The best lead we have is your father's death."

"Is that so? I've spent a lot of time looking at her face, wondering what they could possibly have done to make her do that. One of my father's colleagues, someone he would have trusted. What do they want, this group?"

And that was the question, wasn't it? What did he really know? Regina, the two men she'd been seen with, Dmitri Mirzin. It all pointed to Royce. Mirzin was his man and Pretsin had betrayed the colonel. But if _he_ was there? Edward Kirk had been on his mind for weeks. He had no loyalty for anyone or anything other than himself, and he had a well-developed distaste for Royce and his methods. What could it mean if he was there?

"Their motivations are unclear. Once we have a better idea of who's in this group and what they've been doing in the last month we can try to answer that question."

"Right. I get it, top secret."

"We'll be sending a team in to look for hidden documents. I'll have Morrent tell you when in advance; try to be out when they arrive."

"That's fine. I doubt I'll be here much longer anyway. Can't afford the bills, can't stand to be in here a minute longer than I have to."

That was a common story, Gail knew. One of the advantages of being in the military was the freedom to forget about finances. Richard seemed concerned, however.

"You mean you didn't get the money your father arranged for?" he asked, looking at her as if he didn't understand.

"Money? My father was a nice guy, but he never had any money. I'll sell this place and try to live off that for a while. Don't know where I'll be, so ask your questions while you can." Her tone was completely flat. Gail's impression was that even if she had received the money she wouldn't have cared.

"So you don't know why your dad was killed? He arranged a deal to get out of the military with enough money to last a lifetime, if only he could complete," Richard said, but Gail cut him off. "Enough, Morrent. We're not authorised to share that information."

"Come on, this is the guy's daughter. He died for us and she's left in poverty?"

"_Enough._ We'll deal with it later," he snapped, leaving no room for argument. Miranda Pretsin barely seemed to be listening, but he saw enough hints of a reaction in her face to disprove that idea.

"Is there anything at all about your father's behaviour or speech in the days before he died that gave you cause for concern?" It was unlikely, he knew, but worth trying. His original idea, investigating those close to the secretary, seemed the most likely to yield results.

"He didn't speak about work much, you have to understand," she replied. "The days before he died were especially quiet. Didn't sleep, almost seemed to be crying sometimes. He kept looking through these personnel files from the office." And now she seemed close to tears. "The night before he looked through them for four hours, just over and over. I asked why and he said he had important work to do and there was something he needed to understand."

Richard's calm, carefree manner had finally given way. The intense seriousness of the man responsible for sharing the general's reports with the public had appeared. His gaze met Gail's and they both looked back at the girl. "And did you keep these files?"

And she stood without a word and pulled an envelope from the backpack by her foot. "After he died I looked at these and thought I understood, but what would I really know? I kept them with me just in case they were important and someone broke in looking for them."

Gail took the envelope and pulled a thin stack of documents from it. As she said, it was a collection of personnel files, almost identical to a list of officers under Royce's command. Almost was the keyword. Anton Royce, Eliza Anders and Dmitri Mirzin were the first three. A small '1' had been scribbled in the corner of each photograph, though Mirzin's also had a 'k' under the number and Anders had an 'I' Andrea Kesler, Rick, Regina, and his own file were next along with several other officers he didn't know: Levin, Harper, Morton, Inston, and several others. The same three indicators had been scribbled on most of the photographs.

He spread the files over the table and invited both of them to share their thoughts. "The 'I' is pretty obvious," Richard said, pointing to each officer with the mark. "They were all part of the first wave sent to Ibis Island. See? Anders was in command, your friend Rick was tech support. I met Morton once, he was a TRAT officer."

"The people marked with a one were all either in command or directly assisting the commanders," Gail noted, pointing at the first three in particular. "Nothing unusual about either of those."

"Even I figured that much out," Miranda said, finally showing some interest. She moved all the files marked with a 'k' to one side. "But I couldn't figure these ones out. I went to the military archives and everything, but these people don't seem to have much in common."

Gail leaned in and pulled the files she'd selected to him. Mirzin, Regina, Royce, Kesler, Harper. "They're all wanted for treason," he said, leaning back to think.

Pretsin's daughter gasped as if what he'd said was outrageous. "But everyone's been saying Colonel Royce is a hero, that's he's going to finish off the rebels on that Borginian island." She looked at Richard. "You said that yourself on the state channel just last week."

"Oh, yeah, he's heroic enough. Just keep that to yourself, alright? He's probably helping the guys who killed your parents."

That didn't go down well, but Gail barely noticed. Regina's name had been appearing next to Mirzin's for weeks, and Kesler was still somewhere in the city. Royce had been gone for weeks, but who was Harper? The smirking man in the photograph was one he'd seen before. He checked the entire stack again and realised his was the only one marked with both a 'k' and an 'I'. What could that mean?

He held up Frank Harper's photograph. "Either of you recognise this guy?"

"He was assigned to Lieutenant Colonel Anders' command, but I don't know what he did for her. Should still be with her on Ibis Island, right?" Richard said.

"I don't know him, but I don't like his eyes. He looks friendly enough, but… I don't know," Miranda said, pushing the file back to the centre of the table. "You ever meet someone who looks happy and friendly but when you see their eyes you can tell it's all a lie? That's this guy."

He thought about the five of them. Pretsin's labelling structure was straightforward: a one meant importance and an 'I' meant Ibis Island, surely. There was no use in trying to pretend otherwise: the 'k' referred to Edward Kirk. The question was the same as before: were these observations or theories? Were they the only five to know Kirk was alive? Any doubts he'd had were quickly fading. Even without the physical evidence he was sure: Kirk had been in that warehouse, and Regina and Mirzin at the least had been with him. She was protecting that deranged creature, but the reason eluded him.

He looked at Richard. "You said you were going to hire an assistant?"

"Eh?" he replied, throwing Regina's photograph back onto the pile. "Oh, yeah, I'll find someone tomorrow."

"No need," Gail replied. "You're our new assistant," he said, pointing at Miranda.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "I'm not exactly qualified. Twenty, no work experience, probably not the most reliable…"

He cut her list short. "I don't care. You're a better choice than anyone he'll find." And it was true. Trust was in short supply, but the people they were chasing had executed her parents in cold blood. She wouldn't betray them.

Pretsin's meticulousness was going to identity his murderer, of that Gail was convinced. Royce, Mirzin, Regina, Kesler, Harper. Not only them, but Kirk. They were his leads. Chasing Kirk had nearly killed him last time, but he wasn't going to make the same mistake. The things he'd seen on Ibis Island couldn't be allowed to repeat in a populated area.

"Right," he declared. "What are we waiting for? Morrent, send those files to me as soon as possible. At some point there was an information leak, and at this point these five people are our primary suspects. Mark Royce off the list; too high profile. Mirzin too, he's well-known and was injured at the time."

"But that only leaves three," Miranda pointed out, reaching over the table and pointing at their targets.

"No, it doesn't. It leaves one. Everyone knew Regina and Kesler were in the city, and neither of them could have had known your father was an informant. All evidence says this last one was sent to Ibis Island, but the notes indicate he was seen in the city with our other targets. Your mother was killed because she could have identified him. Frank Harper is where we'll start investigating."

Even so, it wasn't enough. If this man was the one who'd corrupted Regina and set this entire affair into motion as Pretsin's records implied, what was his motive? If he was merely helping Royce than why did he enter the city secretly without their knowledge? Fighting an enemy without a clear motivation was always dangerous, and it seemed like more and more of his foes were of their kind. Harper, Kirk, and now Regina. There was a very real chance he could be assassinated as a precaution. Anybody who operated so methodically would at least consider making that choice.

But there was nothing to be done about that. He would do his duty as he always had. "Well," Gail said, rising to his feet. "We've got our lead. We know who we're against; now we need to know what they intend to do."

Perhaps they were a poor substitute for the professional agents he'd trained, but it was something of a relief to at last have subordinates who agreed with his choices. He could only hope Regina knew something he didn't, something that could justify her choices. Still, he knew that line of thought was hopeless. How could either of them turn back now?


	12. Chapter 12

Adjusting to a vastly different lifestyle is never said to be particularly easy. Coming to terms with the reality of your situation, settling into a new routine, familiarising yourself with new surroundings: all of it takes a great deal of effort. Regina understood that perfectly, but it really made no difference. Even the overwhelming challenges the military academy presented felt easier to handle than a life in hiding; at least there was the promise of a future and some degree of stability in that life.

Her instinct was to retreat into the background. To be unimportant, and to observe until she knew what needed to be done. Fortunately for her there was little else that could be done in the cramped halls under Merestan. They were there, ridiculous as it still felt to think, to support Edward Kirk. Her own relative unimportance was unavoidable, or so she thought.

As Kirk had promised, his original research facility hadn't been entirely buried. Even so, it took a week to clear the rubble from the stairway after Harper brought in some friends of his to help. Regina wasn't particularly comfortable with that, but what choice did they have? Harper's decisions had all been logically sound up to that point. When five men in grey jackets showed up with appropriate equipment she'd been even less comfortable, but the same men had rescued her once before.

The facility itself was much like the generator she'd seen on Ibis Island. A multi-level device built with the same materials. Several areas had been buried entirely including the main bedrooms and an office. Even without access to those areas the facility was a spacious, lonely place. Its halls smelled faintly of rust and most of the outer rooms were in a poor state of repair. They put up with it as best they could, given the lack of an alternative.

It was the first time she'd ever seen anything approaching longing on Kirk's face, the moment the rubble was finally cleared and he saw the generator intact and waiting. She'd been standing by the back entrance watching as her three new comrades inspected what Kirk had promised. It was her preference, and it always had been, to stand back and observe, even if it did isolate her.

If Third Energy must be developed then he would need to be watched, which was how she'd justified her cooperation with him. His behaviour was inconsistent, and the more time she spent with him the more she realised his cool exterior was little more than a poor façade concealing… well, she couldn't quite say.

And so she remained there, guarding a man she found hard to like and even harder to understand. He had more charisma than he liked to show, she'd quickly realised, but he was still prone to mood swings and sudden displays of anger. They had something in common, though. Neither of them had any real allegiance left to anybody and it showed. She spent most of the first week with Mirzin, the only one there she thought likeable enough to consider an actual friend, but he was becoming increasing sullen as time passed. He hadn't said as much, but there was days when he could barely tolerate company and she could respect that.

That left Harper, the man who'd saved them all. Without him she'd have been in a military prison or dead. From the little she knew of the city's prisons Harper had saved her from any number of tortures, and if he hadn't intervened Kirk would have been killed and Mirzin would soon have followed. Without him and his friends they'd have found it much more difficult to survive, and he'd been tactful enough not to mention it too much.

They rarely spoke and he spent much of his time in the city above. It made her uneasy, but his presence reminded her of the day they murdered four people to cover their tracks and rescue the other two decidedly less dangerous members of their party. She was familiar with killing, perhaps uncomfortably so, but it was only once the day was over that she stopped to consider what they'd done. It was an important part of their training, the ability to push those concerns to the back of your mind.

Regina shook her head, uncomfortable with that line of thought. The analogue clock on the wall indicated it was nearly midnight and there she was laying on an uncomfortable bed staring at a series of pipes running across the ceiling through the gloomy light of the one lamp in the room. Once the novelty of living in a research base wore off (and that was within the first two days) the constant uncertainty and boredom became unbearable. She left the room, taking care to seal the door on her way out, but her first choice of distraction proved unfruitful. Leaning on the doorway to the break room she saw Dmitri Mirzin laying on an ugly grey couch, a book resting on his chest and the television playing a news program. He was staring at the ceiling, completely oblivious. It was difficult to say exactly what brought on his change in attitude. The injury was a likely answer. He pretended he was fine, but he also asked Harper for strong painkillers twice in the last week.

Still, he'd have to open up eventually. The only other option was to check on Kirk. This was a very risky thing to do; some days he was amiable and relaxed. Other days he would barely speak at all, and when he did it would only be to insult her. It wasn't something she could tolerate under usual circumstances, but men of science had a reputation for that sort of thing and it was better than boredom. He rarely left the generator room or his work, so finding him was never particularly difficult.

The complex was large enough that the four of them could avoid each other easily, but Regina found him leaning over four iron desks pushed together before the generator. Each one was covered in diagrams and drawings which he was studying with care, running a finger across a blueprint and muttering to himself. She couldn't help but watch from the entrance to the hall trying to understand how he worked, how he looked when alone and unguarded.

Kirk brushed his hand over one of the larger sheets and lowered his head. "Do you intend to stand there all day?" he asked, still looking at the diagrams. An invitation to leave, or to stay?

She approached him from behind, eyes drawn to the enormous generator as they always were. Third Energy, for all its scientific grandeur, might as well have been magic to her.

He glanced at her, just barely, and waved at one of the other seats. They sat in silence for some time. Some people were easier to relate to through silence, and perhaps Edward Kirk was one of them, but his clenched jaw and the absentminded way his finger kept tracing the outline of the same diagram seemed like cause for concern.

"Something wrong?" she asked, deciding not to go any further than that.

He kept staring at the same diagram, expression obscured by his hair. Inhalation as if to reply, but he brushed off her question with a shake of his head. One of _those_ days, clearly.

Again she watched him trace the outline of the same drawing. Tilting her head to get a better angle, it almost looked like one of the designs she'd seen on Ibis Island. Not interested in speaking but not really working either, so what was he doing?

Several minutes passed, each more awkward than the last. Regina was fond of silence; this was different, as if neither of them could speak even if they wanted to.

She sighed in frustration and his fingers tightened around the delicate paper as if to crush it. Memories of the researcher's journals from the island resurfaced, particularly an entry in which Kirk inexplicably locked himself in his quarters and avoided his team for an entire week. It was hard to reconcile that with the outspoken arrogance he usually showed.

Once, after an especially unpleasant mission, Gail sat at his desk for hours and said nothing to anyone, regardless of their intention. Some people really do need their space, and the harder you push the further they retreat into themselves. "I'll leave you to it," she finally said, rising from the seat and turning her back on him. Even when silent he still managed to be an ass.

"Wait," he said as she reached the exit, voice strained as if speaking were a difficult and unnatural task. "I just… come back tomorrow. Not now."

Regina paused on the steps reading out of the hall. How could someone so verbally aggressive and competitive just shut down like this? It was all he wanted, to continue his work, or so he always said. That's what they were doing, but he didn't seem half as happy with it as she'd expected.

He was staring at her through the dim lighting, attention finally drawn from his work. Regina reconsidered his meaning. Perhaps it wasn't intended to be so inconsiderate. What did she actually know about him? For all its apparent difficulty he did say she could come back.

"Right. Tomorrow, then," she said. He crumpled the diagram into a ball and tossed it off the table.

Left with a wide variety of activities available to her, she opted to return to the break room. Edward Kirk was a special case, surely. Mirzin had shown every sign of being a normal human being even if he was prone to periods of lethargy.

The monotonous and, of course, dimly lit, halls passed without much incident. She brushed her hand against the cold metal of the wall while passing, turned a corner and collided with someone attempting the same manoeuvre, her jaw smashing into what felt like a collarbone.

"You've been speaking to _him_, I take it?" the man said, opting to ignore their collision. Regina had been too deep in thought to notice his arrival; perhaps the same was true for him.

"More or less," she replied, unable to disguise the irritation she felt. Her gaze shifted from his chest to his face. "When did you get back?"

"Recently. Very recently," Harper replied, as if annoyed by the question. He was the only one of them who seemed to adjust to living underground, but he was also the only one who could safely leave. Not that he liked to talk about what he did while gone.

He leaned on the side wall and continued speaking. He was always leaning on something. "Kosirim's dealing with our supplies this time, so expect some food worth eating by tomorrow. He has impeccable taste, I promise."

"Great. How're things going up there?"

Harper shrugged, his expression neutral. "Hard to say. Lots of armed patrols, nobody looks happy, and you're still wanted for whatever they said you did. They're still saying Royce is cleaning up a bunch of rebels, but nobody I've met is buying that story. I would've known more, except Hereson purged any remaining Royce supporters in the ranks. And by that I mean he had them lined up and shot."

"Never ends, does it? Only a few months ago I just thought that's how it had to be. If I was sent to kill someone all I need to know was when and where to go."

"Don't feel too bad. They train you to feel that way, you know," Harper said, and despite her best efforts she couldn't find even a hint of mockery in that statement. Clearly one of them was losing their touch.

"Hard as it is to admit, Kirk's the reason I started to question it. Something Rick said about that mission, actually. They lied to us because they wanted weapons data and we weren't even surprised. He's a jerk, but does that make him a bad person? Did he really deserve to be kidnapped and imprisoned when it's our fault he was put in that situation to begin with? I don't know." She sighed. It was easier to pretend not to have opinions, but it was only ever a pretence.

"Thinking like that is how you end up down here," he said, looking curiously at her. "Or like Mirzin," he added with a glance down the hall.

"And there _was_ a data disc in my hotel room," she admitted, tired of secrecy despite knowing Harper wasn't the person to go to for catharsis.

He raised an eyebrow. "I thought that was an oddly specific charge. Well, we're all criminals now. What were you doing with private data from the port?"

"Rick wanted me to investigate while he was gone. Neither of us were ever rebellious, exactly, but after the way they lied to us on the Ibis Island mission it only seemed right to make sure our objectives were really our objectives this time."

"Never half-ass rebellion; it doesn't end well. Now we're doing it properly," Harper declared, his usual smirk returning. "While we're having a moment of honesty, why'd you dye your hair? The picture on the wanted posters is a few years old, but your natural red looks good to me."

Well, that was unexpected. "I don't really know. After a few years in SORT I started to think I was a different person entirely. They just about demand that kind of dedication anyway, and it got to the point where I felt like a fraud when I looked at photos of the person I used to be." That was a little more honesty than she'd intended to offer. Hard to avoid appreciating even Harper's company when Mirzin spent all day staring at the ceiling and Edward Kirk was, well, Edward Kirk.

He remained silent, expression almost unreadable, but neither of them moved. "Your turn," Regina said, flashing an exact copy of Harper's favourite smirk back at him. Never waste a good opportunity to turn the tables. "When we confronted the major general's secretary she acted like she knew you. And she called you Michael. Thought your name was Frank, Harper."

To his credit, he kept his composure despite her blunt (if veiled) accusations. "It's been a while. I figured you'd forgotten all about that. Moved on to the next assignment and all that."

Does he think I'm a complete idiot, she wondered? "Give me some credit. You think I'm going to miss something like that? I'm onto you the second you slip up, Harper. Don't forget that."

"You know, I might have underestimated you. But we're all friends here," Harper said with a short laugh. His expression changed within a second, losing the humour. "You're right, though. She did know me."

"How?"

"We kept running into each other at a restaurant I liked a few years back."

Regina scowled at that. "You can't even be honest for one question?"

"Hey, that is honesty. I knew who she was, but she didn't ever figure out I was working with Anders. She was interesting. I figured out most of her personality was an act so she'd fit into the military, but I didn't have the same luxury. Told her my name was Michael. Didn't really work out and we lost contact."

"Then why did you kill her?" If ever there was a time to be blunt, that was it.

"I guessed there was an informant and she was the logical lead to follow. So I followed her for a while, figured out her routine, and we 'coincidentally' met back up in another restaurant. I used the opportunity to copy her hard drive and steal some documents. She'd have guessed it was me before long, and an on-off relationship built on lies wasn't going to stop her pointing me out to Hereson in a line-up," he said, shrugging as if it were unimportant.

Regina remained silent for a moment while she absorbed that information. None of it came as a surprise, since it was a less lethal version of the way he made all their targets, and perhaps his allies, trust him.

"Your name's not Frank, is it?"

"Is your name Regina?" Harper laughed again and left, clapping her on the back as he did so. "I've got to go see our friend Edward, so I'll let you go on that one." Listening to the fading sound of his steps, she realised that was perhaps the closest to a genuine conversation they'd ever had. "Good luck with that," she muttered, imagining how Kirk was going to handle someone so overbearing in his current state.

She stood there in the hallway for a moment and considered what he just said. Probably just a bunch of lies, she attempted to believe, but it didn't seem that way. It was the same problem as with Kirk, really. What did she actually know about Harper? He was dangerous, apathetic, and could switch between violence and charisma within a second. He claimed to have no particular desires or goals, but here he was with the rest of them.

Before long she found herself back at the entrance to her room, which was formerly used for storage and conveniently located far from the other bedrooms. As the door opened she realised her description of Harper applied perfectly to herself. The difference was that she was forced into this life. He'd chosen to come back to Merestan. He'd chosen to find her and he'd chosen to find Kirk. And for a man with no goals, that was undeniably suspicious.

With that settled, even if inconclusively, she took a shower more from routine than need and settled in for another night of uncomfortable and inconsistent sleep. It took a few hours to get there, admittedly, but once asleep she didn't wake until after noon. Not that noon had much meaning underground.

Another shower took half an hour off the day and she returned to the break room. They were all used to the occasional difficulties shared living quarters presented, fortunately, but that didn't make it any less uncomfortable to have to live with people like Kirk and Harper, even if they hadn't once made any untoward advances. One thing she'd never had to deal with, thankfully. The first thing she noticed was the smell of some sort of roasting meat. The mystery was revealed when she approached and heard the sounds of a rather subdued argument.

"… not going to work if he doesn't tell me what he needs," a rather frustrated voice said.

"Nothing I can do about it. Just give him some time," said a lighter voice. Regina turned the corner and saw Mirzin attempting to enjoy a roast lunch while Harper argued with him. They both turned and stared as she approached. Neither looked particularly happy, but at least Mirzin was speaking again.

"Lunch?" a quiet voice asked from the side. Kosirim stood there, still dressed excessively formally, holding a plate of roast beef and vegetables. That came as something of a surprise, though she'd never bothered to ask exactly why he followed Harper the way he did.

She took the plate and muttered her thanks, taking the seat across from Mirzin. No point wasting any time. "So, what's the problem?"

"Kirk's being uncooperative, that's the problem," Harper said, visibly irritated. He pulled a chair to the edge of the table and sat down. Regina prepared herself for another session of manipulation, glancing at the man across from her as he stabbed a piece of carrot. He was still using his right arm exclusively, she couldn't help but notice.

"Problem is, and I've neglected to mention this: while you're all relaxing down here you don't see the big picture," he continued. "Merestan's a military city and that's getting pretty hard to ignore. They're setting up more checkpoints and every entrance to the city is guarded. You don't get in or out without being checked, and pretty soon it's going to be risky even for me to try and leave. They're not looking for me because I'm not meant to be here, not because they don't want me dead, you realise?"

"What he's trying to say," Mirzin interrupted," is that if Kirk needs research materials from outside the city, he needs to say it now. But he's not. Saying it, I mean." He looked to the side awkwardly and returned his attention to the plate.

Regina met Harper's intense stare and shrugged. "He doesn't have the devices. You know, that Stabilizer he's always thinking about? And an Initializer. I activated the generator on Ibis Island, and you need both of those to do anything. You should've picked them up when you left the island."

Harper stared for a moment and ran a hand over his face in frustration. "I didn't exactly anticipate ending up here. Lots of plans in motion, and not all of them are mine, you know?" He pointed a finger at her. "You can figure it out, if you like. He's been in that same room all night, so he's probably too tired to argue."

"And what are you going to do?"

"I'm going back up top. You remember Kesler from Royce's office? She found some new friends and blew up an armoury a few nights back, so I'm going to try and get in contact with her. Could be useful to have a friend with explosives. Any of you seen my grey jacket?" He left before any of them could answer, muttering something to Kosirim before he did so.

"Wonder what's got him in such a good mood," Mirzin muttered, sinking in his chair as Harper left. It was always tense when he was in the room.

"We'll never know." She'd never had much interest in food, but clearly Kosirim really was a skilled cook. An idea occurred to her, and she asked Mirzin if Kirk had eaten anything.

He shrugged, evidently confused. "Don't think so. I lived with the guy in that dingy basement for a while, remember? He'll get around to it eventually."

"Right. And how are you holding up?"

"I'm not exactly happy with how this is turning out. We're isolated and hiding, the Colonel's stuck on that island, Kirk's unreliable, and Harper creeps me out. And I feel useless." He laughed, trying and partially managing not to sound too bitter. "What about you?"

That question came as a complete surprise. Nobody ever asked her how she was holding up. It'd always been her job to hold everyone else together. "I'm fine. All things considered, this could've been a lot worse."

"Yeah, I know. It's just something John said before…" Mirzin paused as if regretting the choice to open his mouth. "Before he died he said I never did believe this could end badly. And he was right. I never stopped to think we _could_ lose, or even that some of us had bigger things to worry about. He never liked me much, and now I think I know why."

Regina was, for once in her life, unsure of how she should respond. She'd just about killed the man herself, after all. But that didn't seem like the point he was making. "I think you're right," she ultimately said. "I never put much thought into it either. I knew my job, I did it, I pushed the rest to the side. And maybe I don't want to live that like anymore." She ran a hand through her bright red hair while thinking.

"Aren't we cheerful today?" he said, showing an ever rarer smile.

She barely even heard that. "I think I know what to do. If Harper comes back keep him away from Kirk for a while, would you? Tell him I'll handle it." Without waiting for an answer she left to find Kosirim.

Ten minutes later Regina arrived at the entrance to the cavernous hall containing the generator, a place she'd begun to think of as Kirk's lair.

The man himself was in the exact same position she'd left him in the night before. Standing over the table, eyes fixed on a stack of paper, expression obscured by his long hair. He had a pen in his hand, at least, and the papers seemed to be covered in notes and markings.

Despite her better judgement she hesitated at the entrance for a moment before entering. Whatever the problem was, a different approach was clearly needed. What was it he hated so much? Condescension, manipulation, hypocrisy… the list was terribly long, but if she avoided all of that…

"Hey, I brought you some lunch," Regina called out while approaching the desks. Kirk looked away from his work, gaze drifting to the plates on her arm.

She stopped at the table and he continued staring before making a decision and clearing some room. "You did say I should come back today," she reminded him.

His face twitched, whether from annoyance at being interrupted or regret at making that particular concession was difficult to tell. "I suppose I did."

"You weren't up all night, were you?" She was fairly sure he was.

He slowly nodded, poking at the roast vegetables. "I couldn't stop thinking, so I stayed up. That's how I've always done it."

"Isn't that inefficient?"

He raised an eyebrow, obviously not expecting her to question his methods.

"I mean, you're fatigued, starving, and alone. How do you solve anything when you're like that?"

His eyes narrowed as if that were a personal challenge. "I originally came up with the idea for Third Energy after fifty hours without sleep. It doesn't work for everyone, but I never claimed it would."

They ate in silence, though the atmosphere was undeniably awkward. Usually their encounters were much more heated, but the prospect of sitting down for lunch with the man unnerved her more than the prospect of interrogating him. She wasn't sure what to make of that.

"Why are you here?" Edward asked, looking at her with a perplexed look on his face.

"After all the trouble I've gone through to keep you alive I couldn't just let you starve to death. You haven't even finished your life's work yet," she replied, smiling faintly. Rick would approve of these methods, she was sure. If he was even alive.

"That would be inefficient, wouldn't it?" There was a hint of his usual arrogance in that reply.

"Seriously, though, is something wrong? You haven't been yourself for nearly a week. I don't think you've insulted me for days."

Kirk's eyes locked onto her own. She realised with some surprise he was looking for mockery, but she'd been completely sincere.

He sighed. "It's the Stabilizer. If I can't make it work everything I've done has been for nothing. And right now I don't even have one to work with, and you can be sure none of the equipment in this city could produce something so precise. I'm completely stuck."

"You were pretty close, right? So with a little more time you'd be able,' she began, but he cut her off.

"That's not how it works," he spat, voice suddenly filled with irritation. "I've been working on this for years and something's _always_ been missing. The great scientist Edward Kirk, prodigy, genius, inventor, but what have I actually accomplished? _Nothing_." He swept an entire stack of papers to the floor. "It might be bearable if only I hadn't based my entire identity on being this _person_." Kirk's gaze snapped back to her. "You might be a tool of the state, but at least you're good at it."

His rant seemingly finished, Edward looked at the generator, and then her, and then the table, his expression growing increasingly dejected.

"I'm not a tool of the state," Regina replied, nothing but calmness and clarity in place of his rage. "Not anymore. Maybe I don't know what to do about it. I might not have Gail's certainty, or the zealousness of Mirzin and Royce, or even whatever drives Harper, but I'm not the same person you met on Ibis Island."

She laughed, not having the kind of anger he did to fuel her thoughts "If I hadn't met you I'd have been on another mission, probably preparing to kidnap or kill someone else. Why? Because I was good at it. I never thought any further than that. Maybe you do put too much effort into living up to this image of perfection, but at least you've got that much."

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Talking about herself was surprisingly difficult, especially to someone so callous, but it was the only thing she could think to do that wouldn't have angered him further.

"You're not who I thought you were," Edward finally said, his tone quiet once again.

"No, I think you were right. Why else would I have put up with what you said when we were under that foundry? People change, Kirk. That includes you."

"So who are you now?"

"Who knows? I've got the time to work on that. Question is, what do you want to do? You really don't have to work on Third Energy if you don't want to."

"No." It was a blunt statement. "I do need to see this through. Whether it really is possible I've come to doubt, but I need to try again. This idea, that perfecting the Stabilizer isn't actually possible, has bothered me for years. I'd have done absolutely anything to see it finished. That night on Ibis Island, I finally understood why people commit atrocities in the name of science."

"Which is why I'm going to have to stay around. You think too much. I bet you could justify just about anything if you had enough time to think up an excuse for it."

He opened his mouth, clearly annoyed, but she didn't let him continue. If she stopped speaking she had the distinct impression she'd get distracted and ruin everything.

"But this time let's do it properly. A good start would be not to give your secrets to military officials. And tell Harper what you need. I don't trust him either, but I think he wants this done just as badly as you do. Write a list and get some sleep. And if you don't like having to live up to this reputation you think you've got, don't. You're much harder to hate when you're like this, believe it or not."

This time he did succeed in interrupting her. "Why are you doing this?"

"Huh?" That was supposed to be an obvious one. "Well, if I want to be something other than a military thug, how can I expect anyone else to accept that if I don't give them the same chance? And you've done more than most to be an irredeemable jackass, so I'm starting with you."

"This is not what I expected, but I suppose that makes some sort of sense," Kirk muttered, but he did look a little less dejected.

"Fine," he announced. "I didn't ever expect to say this, but you might be right. I'll write a list for that dead-eyed creep. And I'll think about it. All of it."

"Great,' she replied, exhaling in relief. "Coming in here I thought you were just going to laugh at me for daring to give you advice."

Now he did look annoyed. "Not if the advice was good, which it may well be. It's stupidity I dislike. And mindless obedience. And maybe the way I've treated myself could be considered mindless obedience of a sort." He shrugged. "It'll need more thought."

"Then I'll leave you to it," Regina said, rising to her feet. That was more exhausting than most missions.

When she reached the door she heard him say something else. "Would you come back tomorrow?"

She looked back at him and nodded. "See you then, unless you get a social life and take a break before that."

He snorted at that and waved a brusque goodbye, picked his pen back up and began writing on a fresh piece of paper. Was that why Rick always put human life as his first priority? Because he understood people could be more than their first impression, that they had potential? She'd have to ask if they ever met again.


	13. Chapter 13

_Author Note: This is something of a major turning point, and in a direction I wasn't originally intending to take. With that in mind there are changes that will need to be made to certain earlier plot points (mostly in Rick's chapters, which I find hardest to write), but nothing too significant outside of a few conflicting sentences. It's difficult to piece together a story with so many elements in this serial format without that happening.  
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"Twenty-five? No, wait, twenty-three."

"Wrong, both times."

"Oh, come on, how far off could I be?"

Regina leaned in as if she were preparing to reveal a great secret. "I'm twenty-four. You still lose, but don't feel too bad about it."

"That's easy for you to say. What's the punishment this time?" The defeated man sank further into his seat. "Wait, hold on. How old am I? If you're wrong we'll call it even."

She was never the type to let a challenge go unanswered. Dmitri Mirzin's position in the military had been rather prestigious, though he looked quite young. Hadn't she looked over his file once? Possibly, but the exact date was hard to recall.

"Twenty-eight?"

Mirzin stared at her, completely motionless, before pointing an accusing finger. "You're a dirty cheater, and don't you deny it," he declared, but he laughed despite that. "Well, what is it this time?"

"My shotgun needs cleaning. Again. Preferably by the time I get back," she demanded. Despite the somewhat improved atmosphere in their underground hideout, there was so little to do that the two of them had taken to playing any number of ridiculous games just to pass the time. A partial media blackout was in effect, though none of them were entirely sure why. She imagined Harper could explain if he wanted to, but she wasn't going to be the one to ask.

"That's pretty creepy. You have some urgent use for it later tonight?" He waved off her attempt to answer, his joking manner vanishing before her eyes. "Seriously, though, you've done some good with Kirk, if that's where you're going. Actually, this isn't the first time I've been down here with him," he admitted, and she had the distinct impression he'd been working up to telling her that.

She raised an eyebrow. "So you must've been Royce's assistant for, what, more than four years?"

He nodded glumly. "I saw Kirk a few times back when this place was operational. Any time he went weird and aggressive or locked himself up we just left him to it. Anton's a good guy, but he'll treat you the way you treat him, and you know what Kirk's like. He likes to hand the insults out but if you dare to return the favour…"

"Is that why any time you even mention him Kirk's face twists up? Well, that and having him kidnapped and imprisoned."

"Yeah, you'd think so. Slow progress is the risk you take with these things, but eventually he even stopped reporting in. The one experiment they tried being a massive failure made it even worse. Still, he really seemed surprised when the project was cancelled, like we were going to put up with that bullshit forever. You can't really take those kind of risks without a lot of trust, and that was around the time of the northern campaign anyway, so resources were in short supply." His voice trailed off as if he'd forgotten he was speaking. A violent shudder returned his attention to her. "I need booze. Remind me to tell Kosirim to buy some."

"Somewhere between where you started and the request for booze I think you forgot the point you were trying to make."

He re-established eye contact, visibly struggling to remember something. "Oh. Right. Point is, I thought of the same thing you did but couldn't pull it off. People like that are difficult. They're so sure that everything they say is right, but half the time they don't even believe it themselves. What a mess. I still don't know if it'll work, but you've got more hope with that than anything the Colonel tried. Although he was the one who first thought you'd be able to do it. That kind of skill with people got him where he is now."

In a war-zone, she thought? "We'll see whether it makes any difference. Try not to get too miserable while I'm gone, okay? And don't forget our deal either." Mirzin smiled weakly at that and waved as she stood up.

"Regina," he called as she approached the door. She turned back expecting another cheap joke but his expression was almost mournful. It was a side of the man he took great care to conceal. "You may not remember this, but not long after we first met I told you we were going to make a move. I don't know what's going on up there, but it's too late to turn back now. Just remember who's on the right side and who's not, alright?"

Yet another one who lived each day as a lie, Regina realised. With a short nod she turned and left. There was nothing else she could do.

The flimsy door closed behind her with a soft click. After her initial success several days earlier, managing to have an entirely civil conversation with Edward Kirk and even giving him some advice that he seemed to find interesting, they'd been regularly meeting for lunch. He was slowly returning to his usual self, perhaps with a little less hostility, but even if they usually didn't speak much he did seem to appreciate the company. It even had some appeal to her, like unravelling a particularly complex puzzle.

It wouldn't be happening that day, however. The night before she'd received a rather uncomfortable visit in her private quarters, opening the door after a shower only to find Harper sitting at her desk. Despite the unnerving way he looked her over, all he did was ask her to meet him at the exit stairwell the following afternoon before leaving. There was more than one way to interpret that, no doubt.

Regina took the opposite hall leading away from the generator and approached the stairs leading to the exit, squinting to see through the poor lighting. The stairwell behind the heavy steel door at the top, cramped and dangerous despite their efforts, ended in a series of tunnels under a particularly poor part of the western port district. It was only after they arrived that Mirzin admitted the tunnels had been built to disguise the facility despite their legitimate appearance.

The sound of boots on iron grates greeted her at the door. "Took you long enough," said an acidic voice, and Harper stepped through the doorway, crouching slightly to fit under the frame.

"After all the effort you put into that jump scare last night I figured it might as well get this over with. And the next time you do that expect to leave with something broken," she replied.

"I'll look forward to it. Anyway, I've got some news for you. You, not the other two. It took me a few days, but I managed to contact Kesler."

Regina's memories of the woman were vague. Middle-aged, perhaps, with a stern persona and respected history as an infantry commander.

"So?"

"She's arranged a meeting, and I need you to come along as backup. She'll recognise you, and she wants a demonstration of good faith. If this doesn't go well we're in trouble, not least of all because she'll kill us both."

"Why weren't you good enough? And why not take Mirzin instead? He was actually important, unlike me," she argued, immediately suspicious of both Harper and his new friend.

"She doesn't trust me, that's why. Anders recruited me, if you have to know, and they despise each other. And we're not telling Kirk or Mirzin about any of this." He leaned over and pulled a bag from one of the top steps. "Besides, he's not going to be any use in a fight."

She pointed at the bag and raised an eyebrow. "You've been shopping?"

"Yeah, and all for your sake." He threw it over and she took a look inside. "Black hair dye? Sunglasses?" she asked. "You sure this isn't a roundabout way of getting me to indulge a fetish you haven't mentioned?"

Harper found that terribly amusing, if his loud laugh was to be believed. "It'll stop people staring long enough for us to get to the rendezvous without being shot by patrols. And you never know, it might look good on you, but I always preferred natural red. You'll thank me for the sunglasses once you remember you haven't seen the sun for weeks."

"Right." His was a surprisingly effective way to communicate, she realised. So much of what he said was filled with double meanings and alternative interpretations that it was hard to catch him in an actual lie.

"We'll leave a little before sunrise so you don't blind yourself. Take a pistol, and don't tell them. Especially Mirzin. I mean it. My last plan worked because you listened, so give me the same courtesy this time."

Harper turned around to head back up the stairwell. "Wait," Regina called out, using an authoritative tone usually reserved for official assignments. He stopped, showing clear curiosity. "I don't know why you're doing this, and I know you're not going to tell me. Just give me one reason to trust you. One."

"I appreciate the opportunity, but we both know it doesn't work that way. You have no reason to trust me; you've got no reason to trust Royce either, and that includes his pawns." He smiled again, and she knew it was an entirely artificial gesture for her benefit. "Tomorrow morning, then?" After a terse nod of confirmation he turned back and ascended the stairwell without another word.

Another restless night passed with difficulty, sleep proving itself more evasive than ever. His final words echoed in her mind, and spent spend some time trying to decide on their actual meaning. Ultimately she conceded defeat, realising she knew so little about any of them that any further thought would be wasted.

She'd dyed her hair as he requested, taking care to avoid a late night questioning session from the other two. It wasn't that she disliked the colour, but Mirzin would ask too many questions and Kirk would be sure to have some piece of mocking commentary to share.

Admitting the hopeless of her situation, she checked the clock and decided to beat Harper to the top. If their last adventure was an indicator he'd have planned the entire thing out down to the last detail anyway. With some regret she left her freshly cleaned shotgun behind, opting for a concealed pistol in her jacket pocket. Even before the recent internal conflict the city was full of unrest; she couldn't think of one reason why that wouldn't have worsened.

"Don't tell her I'm here," whispered a soft voice when she reached the main stair leading to the exit. Restraining her slight surprise, Regina turned and saw a shadowy figure lurking in the doorway to what was once a small office.

"You're well informed," Regina replied in a similar subdued tone.

"And you're still so naïve it's almost endearing," Edward Kirk replied, taking a half-step into the light to confirm she was alone. "I set up a monitoring system over the entrance in my first stay down here. After all these years it's nice to see it finally paid off. Had to keep track of my research team, as you can imagine." He paused for thought. "Well, maybe you can't, but that's not the point."

He was too much to handle at four in the morning. "Right," she said, perfectly aware of how lifeless she sounded. "You don't want to me to tell Kesler you're here, is that it?"

"Yes. Secrecy is the one advantage we have and it's gone the moment she knows I'm here," he said, and she was sure he was working up to a monologue and detailed list of things not to do.

"Royce isn't stupid. He'll check here if he even suspects you're alive, and Harper came back with specific orders to recruit you. That's why he showed up at that hospital."

"Naïve, naïve, naïve," Kirk sneered, though it lacked his usual sincerity. "The men who rescued us? Harper's men. The facility? Not one of Royce's men ever entered except Pretsin, and he died moments later. Officially he never returned to the city, and he's kept the three of us completely isolated ever since."

He was right. He was right and she couldn't begin to say what that meant.

Kirk's eyes glittered in the darkness. "You expressed a desire to stop being a mindless military woman, yes? Now's a good chance to start. Start with no assumptions: observe Harper and observe Kesler. When you return we'll try to make sense of this mess. But remember: Royce started this and he left you to die. Remember that, because he'll do it again if you give him the chance. Neither of them have earned your trust."

He paused for breath, nodded and, clearly uncomfortable with expressing so much emotion at once, made a quick exit. Regina was surprised that he took the time and effort to try and help her the same way she did him, but was that so unusual? So that was the way of it: Edward Kirk was just as helpless as she was and he knew it. There was some solace to be taken in that.

Ascending the stairway for the first time in weeks she felt a strong sense of foreboding. It was still an hour before she was expected to appear, but the idea of seeing the outside world again by herself was too appealing to ignore.

The cool, if stale, air in the tunnels outside the facility came as a surprise after weeks of artificially heated ventilation. Before long she reached the ladder, one which led to a desolate commercial area next to the military port. Her hand brushed over the harsh texture of the rust on the first rung.

Alvernia was in the early stages of autumn and a cool wind from the western sea brought with it the damp scent of salt. The clear night sky, obscured only by light pollution from the city proper to the east, gleamed with bright stars. She emerged in a small alley connecting two near-forgotten streets, the walls stained with graffiti and the stone path cracked and broken. Despite the grim surroundings her first deep breath of the salty air was the most invigorating experience she'd had for far too long.

Her upcoming meeting with Harper seemed entirely unimportant in light of the opportunity, however dangerous, to explore. Her first impression was that the entire city had been emptied while she was underground. Few houses were lit and even fewer businesses were open. The western district was known for its poverty, but the gleaming white fortress that rose from the rows of mundane buildings reminded her all too well of her danger. Not only the western command centre: further in the city a thick column of smoke marked the site of, no doubt, the work of an insurgency much like the one she was soon to meet.

A heavily armed patrol forced her to divert even further west and she eventually reached the coast itself. Even more disturbing than the sight of such overwhelming force on the city streets were the burnt out buildings, boarded up windows, and all too frequent signs of recent violence in the area. The beach itself was entirely empty; she used the opportunity to stand on the shore and reflect on her own life.

Hiding in tunnels, evading and even fighting the army she'd once been a proud member of, the complete isolation from any friends she'd ever had: it was only then, the first time she'd been truly alone since this life had been forced on her, that she allowed herself to feel the things she'd buried on instinct. Much like she'd been trained to watch death with ease, she found over time it grew easier to supress her own emotions. But that was just an excuse, she realised with some bitterness. Rick was a living counterexample, and he'd been by her side from the moment they'd entered the academy.

The unrelenting crash of waves on rock soothed her troubled thoughts and, despite the danger, she focused solely on the moment. Time passed entirely unnoticed and the dark sky began to change, the stars fading away as the first hints of day appeared in the east. A man approached on her right, but he remained silent, staring out at the open ocean with a wistful look in his eyes.

They remained there until the sun rose. It was the first time she'd ever seen him unguarded, even carefree. They'd known each other for less than two months and she couldn't say she knew the first thing about him. The same was true for all of them, and even true for her. She found herself wishing Kirk were there if only so she could see the man removed from the misery of his work: to see him standing in the morning sun with the breeze blowing through his hair. To see if either of them could change.

Harper turned and approached her. "It's time," he said, with a soft glance at her left hand. She realised it was wrapped around the pistol, and the implications were obvious to both of them. He said nothing, responding only with a resigned smile.

The moment was gone. They turned and left the beach behind, alternating between blending in with the growing morning crowds and running through back alleys. Regina followed his lead but more often than not was more successful in choosing a safe route. The sounds of the residential district grew faint as they approached a small dockside industrial area. Even the early morning sun burned her unadjusted eyes, and Harper's sunglasses proved especially useful.

Avoiding the checkpoints proved difficult, but it was a refreshing challenge. Seeing Harper defer to her expertise was especially satisfying. Shortly after entering the industrial area the faint sound of raid sirens surprised them both. The smoke she'd seen after emerging from the tunnels was joined by a second column further to the south.

"That's our signal," Harper muttered, pulling her aside by the shoulder.

"Signal? For a meeting?"

"I told you, didn't I? I already met her. This is our show of good faith, so let's make it a good one."

Regina was so frustrated by that little half-truth that she almost shouted at him on the street. "Well, who does she want killed?" she muttered, not trusting herself to say more.

"Kesler's team just assaulted an industrial train depot used to supply raw materials to the weapons manufacturers. That's going to draw half the soldiers in the city to her, but they're a much bigger force than we are," he explained.

The realisation that she'd become one of the people SORT teams were sent to kill didn't go unnoticed by either of them. Still, she thought, General Hereson's military supplies were his problem, not hers, and she owed him some misery.

"What's our target?"

"Well," Harper replied, his usual smirk returning, "You've seen my friends before. There are only ten of us, including you and Kosirim, but I think that'll be enough."

"Enough for _what_? You want me to help you then you're going to have to stop with the lies. Gail, our SORT team leader, lied to us about Kirk and his research, and it didn't benefit anyone."

"Enough," he continued, tapping the brick wall on his right, "to destroy the fuel depot a mere five minutes from here." He pointed at something behind her. Kosirim was approaching with two other men, one of whom she distinctly remembered from the aftermath of the foundry. "Kirk was right," she murmured to herself.

"Without that fuel Hereson's fleet is going to be useless. He'll have to import from Polostin in the south and that won't be enough. Economy, military, credibility: it'll all take a massive hit."

"Are people really so frustrated that they approve of this?" Even when she was a child it was obvious that there were serious problems in Alvernia, but if it had reached the point of public riots and approval of sabotage then clearly she'd underestimated the problem.

"It's hard to tell from our position. We rarely deal with crushing poverty the regular workers do, or the segregation in the north, or the uniformly miserable prospects for children, ridiculously entrenched class structure, or the extremely punitive military justice system," Kosirim said. "People are tired of it. If the revolutionaries offer them hope they're not going to refuse it."

"Even so," Harper said. "If we bombed a hospital that'd be entirely different. People see an armoury go up in smoke and cheer. Don't believe the state broadcasts. You want to know how the average man in the street sees it then look at someone like Mirzin."

A black van pulled over at next to them. "And here are the supplies." Regina couldn't help but laugh at seeing the same stolen van again.

The back doors opened and a woman in a grey jacket looked out. "Kesler didn't lie. All kinds of explosives, including a few grenade launchers," she said.

"This is some serious firepower," Regina murmured, eyes fixed on the supplies within. Grenades, packs of C4, several RPGs.

"Royce runs more than one weapons manufacturer, and Kesler's running his Merestan operation right now."

So it was that serious. They really had been kept in the dark, but it didn't feel like Harper was doing this to help Kesler or her revolutionaries. What Kirk said was the right path: make no assumptions, just observe.

The fuel depot was enormous, with several dozen large storage tanks visible from their vantage point. It was only then, seeing the size of the facility that she realised the enormity of what Harper had planned. Watching two of Harper's men take positions on the rooftop of a nearby factory, three more loading the RPGS, Kosirim watching the end of the street, his coat billowing in the breeze, Regina understood she finally had the freedom to make her own decision.

The charges Hereson laid against her were false, that much was true. Still, there was no turning back: not to the military, not to her life before SORT. She wasn't fighting to maintain the status quo, or for revolution; she never had been, but the fighting had never stopped. Perhaps that was something she had in common with Edward Kirk, and even with Harper, that she could never have shared with Rick or Gail.

He approached her again, a grenade launcher held at his side.

"You want to bring them both down, don't you?" she asked, meeting his cold grey eyes without hesitation.

"It would be satisfying, don't you think?"

Truth at last. He turned aside and spoke into a wrist communicator, throwing one at her as he did so.

"Everyone else is in position," he said. "We've got the unpleasant task of going in through the secondary entrance on the north side. Security is going to be comparatively light, so with us on the ground and the snipers above I think we'll be fine. Kosirim's group is handling our escape, but we need to get close enough to plant the explosives directly. We don't want to be here it happens, trust me. We'll try and get some information while they do that; when it's done your comm unit's going to light up blue."

It all went the way he said it would as they approached. Two men in watchtowers were shot by the men on the factory rooftop without attracting attention, but the guard post at the secondary entrance was protected by thick protective glass. Thick iron walls surrounded the facility, most of which was built on a small artificial peninsula.

Left with few options, she examined the building from a distance. Harper suggested testing their new firepower on it, but Regina had always preferred the subtle approach. To his credit he agreed to try her plan. "But we have to make a good impression, or they're not going to open up," he whispered, grinning at the audacity of her idea. He cut a sizeable, though shallow, line across his shoulder with the knife from his belt.

"Hey, help," she shouted, running toward the office and supporting a terribly injured Harper with one arm. The man inside's eyes widened in surprise.

He bought their story but still refused to open the door. Blood was running down Harper's chest, ostensibly from an accidental injury. It didn't matter. The small slit in the window used for speaking was at his eye level. He began punching the numbers for the emergency line into his phone and she fired her pistol through the gap a moment before he finished.

"Nearly worked," Harper said. Two more men approached and the four of them pulled masks over their faces. He listened to his communicator for a moment and nodded at the two newcomers. A small charge blew a hole in the wrought iron of the main gate and they charged into the industrial lot on the other side.

Their entrance attracted the attention of two dock workers, both of whom threw themselves on the floor begging for mercy, which they received. Another soldier appeared only to be shot in the head a moment later.

"Which way?" Regina asked, and he pointed at an office complex to the west. "Let's try and get the data from the docking stations." The other two with the explosives ran toward the fuel storage tanks. She seized the fallen soldier's rifle and they approached the doors from either side.

Regina tried the handle and glanced at Harper. He nodded. She threw the door open, but they were expecting trouble and a heavy burst of gunfire from within narrowly missed tearing through her left arm. They began exchanging fire, neither side making any ground. More soldiers appeared from the north and they were forced to take cover behind a concrete sign. She waited a moment, listening past the shots, and fired back at the entrance to the offices. A sharp scream confirmed her intuitive guess, but Harper admitted defeat and threw a grenade through the doors into the hall within. "Back to the front, we're leaving," he shouted, and they used the explosion to make a break for the cover of the sheds in the front lot.

Regina threw herself around the corner of a flimsy industrial shed, firing around each corner to dissuade them from following. The communicator on her arm flashed with blue light and she prepared to sprint again despite the risk.

The sound of another explosion, closer and larger, silenced several gunners. She peered around the corner and saw three more of Harper's team approaching, two with grenade launchers. Most of the soldiers guarding the facility were on the retreat, unwilling to face snipers and explosives so close to the fuel.

Three vans, including the black armoured ban carrying the weapons, were waiting at the front entrance. When she reached them she threw herself into the passenger seat of the weapon's van and all three left in separate directions.

Harper's face was tense and none of his usual mannerisms were present. "I'm losing my touch," he said, tone far more bitter than she'd expected. Regina understood, or thought she did. Only eight of the ten he'd sent in returned despite it being a routine operation.

"Still, it had to be done," he continued, with a glance over at her. "Kirk needs his Stabilizer, and Kesler's the only one who can get me back to Ibis Island. The weapons are just a benefit on the side."

Nothing more was said for some time, even when they stopped at a warehouse to switch cars, until their arrival on the slopes of the city's northern border. The clear skies of the morning were changing and the cool breeze was turning bitter. They left the car in a commercial lot with a stunning view of the entire city and were met by three people.

"So, I heard there was an incident at the docks, something about an armed raid. Clearly nothing successful," their leader, a stern-faced woman, said as she approached. Her gaze shifted from Harper to Regina. "Still, you weren't lying about her."

"And I wasn't lying about this either." He reached into his jacket pocket, pausing at the sight of Kesler's men and their pistols. He pulled a phone and dialled. "Regina, tell Kosirim to do it,"

She knew what he wanted. Was it what she wanted? Would Kesler even want the depot destroyed? She raised the phone to her ear. "Kosirim? Yes, do it."

Kesler's men were waiting, likely expecting a trap. Regina turned and looked back at the coast, holding the phone at her side.

For a brief moment it looked to have failed, but within a fraction of a second the flames tore through the fuel tanks closest to the sea and the flame erupted into an explosion so bright Regina fell back, covering her eyes to avoid the searing pain. There was a slight tremor in the earth despite their distance. By the time she risked a half-look back the entire depot was engulfed in flame; many of the buildings they'd so recently fought by were twisted and burnt beyond recognition, and the thick flames were spreading to nearby factories. The plumes of black smoke that rose from the ruins filled the western sky within minutes, but none of them could avert their eyes from the sheer enormity of the destruction they'd caused. Regina watched the enormous gates on the far end of the western command centre part as a strike force left for the western shore.

"The fuel depot," Kesler muttered. "I was hoping you'd choose something with a little less value when we take over, but I suppose it'll do."

"That should be enough to satisfy the Colonel, so I'll uphold my end of the deal. You'll have your weapons and your support, and your ship."

"Wait, you're in contact with Royce?" Regina asked, unable to hide her disbelief.

"I'm managing his operations in the city. He's quite busy negotiating with Borginia, with some success already. Are you familiar with Kosra's militia? They're on our payroll now. I can arrange for you to re-join him on the island, if you'd prefer that to being one of _his_ people. I believe the tech expert we brought in with you is proving particularly useful; he'll be glad to hear you're alive."

A burst of adrenaline hit her veins at the thought. A chance to return to military life, to join with Rick and return to the life she'd once been expected to lead. Harper's grey eyes stared from the side, but he said nothing.

And yet she found the idea lacked any real appeal. It would be a denial of all the changes she'd hoped to make, but that wasn't even her main concern. If she left, it would be seen as an utter betrayal by Kirk. She wasn't a fool: the hope that she could understand him, that he could come to understand her, was one of the few things left to the man. His life had been filled with isolation, and misery, and lies, and to leave now to re-join the forces of a man he despised could only turn that bitterness into an unquenchable hatred.

"I'm grateful for the offer, but I can do more here."

Kesler nodded her approval. "You're willing to make the hard choice. I'm impressed. I'll send instructions for the delivery of your equipment and have the ship docked in the usual spot. I suppose this makes us official allies, so feel free to contact us to request support, and we'll expect the same from you. I assume they're going to send someone after you because of this, though you should be capable of handling that more than most."

With another long look at the destruction below them she turned and left. Neither of them were ready to speak for some time after. "Are you surprised I didn't go with her?" Regina finally asked, turning away from the flames to look at her companion.

He shook his head. "Leaving would be admitting defeat. Leaving would mean returning to the past. I don't see you choosing either of those. I certainly didn't see you letting Kirk out of your sight."

The western sky was choked with thick black smoke and the flames showed no signs of abating. "Third Energy would make what we did today look like absolutely nothing, you realise?"

"Not the way you do, but I understand it as a concept. It would singlehandedly win the civil war they're all so determined to start."

"Do you think we're any better?"

"I don't know. I was in your position once. Anders had me put a team together for the uprising in the northern territories. The same team you met today. I've never been empathetic, you understand. I regretted having to kill my lover, but I didn't feel the emotional pain I was expected to. I could kill you now and regret it terribly, but it would be a logical response, not an emotional one. There's something missing, and people like me are prized for that work. Anders understands because she's the same way. You had to be trained to feel that way and it still didn't change who you were at your core, didn't it?"

He continued without pause. "And even to someone like me it was repulsive. We weren't fighting a righteous battle the way she and Royce framed it, we were experimenting on a captive populace. If we bomb this how will they respond? If we assassinate this official what will the people do? One of their, no, _my_, most effective tactics was to fabricate a situation in which our enemies were blamed for any number of vile tragedies, all of which were, in fact, solely caused by us. They were playthings in our games, and once they were beaten into submission we returned for a round of promotions and medals. So much secrecy for something we all knew we'd done, like children hiding soiled bedsheets."

It was absolutely vile, and she couldn't even hate him for it. She thought of Gail. Was this what he meant: duty first no matter the cost? How could anyone tolerate a life under those circumstances?

"Why?"

He smiled at her question, and it was just as unpleasant as it had been when they first met, more of an imitation than a genuine expression. "Look around you, Regina. The game never finished, did it? They just moved the board. You don't need me to tell you what they gained or why they did it."

"What we're doing isn't going to fix this."

"No, it won't," he replied. "And I'm no idealist. Still, I could never lead a normal life. Even this has never satisfied me. I wonder if it'll come as a surprise when they realise people are still capable of independent thought."

"Now you sound just like Kirk. His response was self-destruction, though it took me a while to see it that way. I thought it was disinterest. Maybe he saw it that way too, but I think he wanted them to abuse his work. It would have proven everything he said to be true, and what better revenge could there be than for someone like him than being proven right even in defeat."

"And you?"

She paused, again finding it harder to focus on herself than the people around her.

"Even if they hadn't made me a wanted criminal, the only thing that motivated me was blind faith that what we did was just. Maybe Royce is right to fight for a revolution. Mirzin grew up in this city and he thinks so." Her voice trailed off while she considered what she knew of the man. "But I'm not going to fight for any of them. Not like this. And if that means I have more in common with you and Kirk than I do anyone else, I'll have to accept that."

They returned to the underground research facility with some difficulty, the trip taking more than twice its usual time to pass because of the security measures enacted through the city as a direct result of the day's violence. It was difficult to look at Mirzin after the actions and revelations of that day. Harper left for Ibis Island the following morning, but she now felt she understood some small part of who he was and why he gave up his station in the military to join them.

Edward Kirk, a man often prominent in her thoughts, listened to her explanation of the day to the last detail, growing more excited by the moment. Her description of the city above and the chaos within, the recounting of their raid on the fuel depot and the meeting with Kesler, and especially her discussion with Harper. Regina was expecting disbelief or scepticism, even a sudden change in his position, but ultimately he admitted it was more than he could have hoped for. That he had a chance, however small, to not only complete Third Energy but to deny its power to any of the power-hungry groups he'd been forced to serve.

In hindsight she knew she should have expected such a response. Kirk was a highly emotional man even if he pretended otherwise. Volatility was a problem for him. If only he could control his wildly fluctuating moods his intellect and physical allure would have solved most of his interpersonal problems before they ever began. Still, she didn't share his enthusiasm despite her admissions to both men. It was more likely that would be captured and killed for their stubborn refusal to choose a side. The difference, she considered, may well have been that in the case of failure neither Harper nor Kirk cared for their own lives to continue.


	14. Chapter 14

"Main targets are moving toward the northern border. Do not, repeat, do not, pursue. Armoured support is approaching from the south. Hold until their arrival. Orders are to capture if possible, but only if there's a clear opportunity," shouted a woman's voice. Distinguishing her words was next to impossible through the sound of gunfire.

The soldiers surrounding Gail, a mix of heavily armoured TRAT professionals and regular city guards pulled in for support, had surrounded a group of militants responsible for assaulting an industrial train line a mere hour before. The majority of their force had pulled out after using explosives to damage the station beyond any hope of repair, but a significant minority had been trapped inside by the flames and smoke long enough for the military to arrive. It was the second major attack on military infrastructure in the last day and every available soldier had been brought in to, if not to directly respond to the attacks, than to aid in a futile attempt to maintain order throughout the rest of the city.

Within a month the unrest in the city had ignited into an internal conflict too widespread to track. Worse, as General Hereson had privately said before asking Gail to deal with it, the various groups responsible for this damage were uniting. Anton Royce's rebels were the largest and most well-equipped group, but the Borginian funded militants that had caused so much public anger had switched tactics entirely within the last week, cooperating fully with Kesler and her men. Similar, if less severe, situations were erupting through several major cities.

Gail's private opinion was that the city was all but lost. Despite Royce's treachery being an official secret, it was all but open knowledge among the public; worse, he was quickly gaining support. His attempts to track down Regina and her new allies had been ruined by Kesler's emergence. All their intelligence had shown that their targets were isolated and alone, but Gail knew they'd simply been outwitted by Royce yet again. Was Regina with Kesler? He hoped not, but couldn't ignore the possibility.

"Backup's here. It's time to move," the woman on his right said, pointing at a convoy of armoured vehicles approaching from the south. It was a mistake, he knew, and one that would only further agitate the populace.

The TRAT squad approached first using a tank as cover while Gail waited at the rear, his team prepared to gun down any insurgents who attempted to flee. The one advantage they did have was overwhelming force, as the men hidden in the train station quickly realised. The tank's heavy machine gun cut down half the enemy troops in moments, and the soldiers moved in and captured the remainder with little difficulty.

A cursory inspection from the exterior was enough to know the city's weapon manufacturers would be short on materials, right when they were most in demand. The corpses were gathered and lined up on the road for inspection, and the stench of burnt flesh and gore filled his nostrils. It made no difference. None of them were on his list, and they would be quickly replaced when word of Kesler's success spread around the city.

Looking at the sky he judged it to be late morning. He turned to the woman leading the TRAT forces, intending to put her in command and join the force hunting Kesler in the north. "Lieutenant, you're in charge. Have the corpses identified and report to western command tonight; I'll handle the rest then."

She nodded and removed her helmet, but a heavy earth tremor silenced them both. The distant sounds of yet another explosion followed, this one far larger than the first two, emerged from the western coastal districts.

"Never ends, does it?" she said with a grimace. Finally something he could agree with. She left his side and began shouting at the men to prepare a defensive position while they waited for new orders.

It came as a surprise, considering the situation, when it was his personal phone and not his wrist communicator that they used, though he was sure he'd be wanted elsewhere. He responded with a curt "Yes," and heard a melancholic young woman's voice. "Morrent's busy, he wants you back at the command centre. Like, now. Half the coast is in flames. We're not at war, are we?"

After their initial meeting he'd done what he could to improve Miranda Pretsin's life. It was, to Gail's mind, his fault for training the woman who'd ruined her life and failing to see her betrayal; the least he could do to atone was to take responsibility for her welfare. "Calm down. Tell him I'll be there in fifteen minutes," he replied, ignoring her question. Half the coast in flames, he wondered? Surely that was hyperbole. With a nod to the TRAT commander he returned to the convoy and began the journey to the command centre through the heavily guarded city streets.

The scale of the disaster on the coast only became apparent during the ascent to western command. The western sky was choked with thick black smoke pouring from an enormous fire. It was a target he'd believed safe, one of those critical pieces of infrastructure needed by any force that hoped to hold the city. The car slowed and he was greeted by two of General Hereson's guards at a rear entrance.

Reaching the general's office on the eighth floor took far too long for Gail's liking. The offices on the ground floor were busier than he'd ever seen them; every way to ascend the upper floors was busy, and every important door had been turned into a makeshift checkpoint.

He finally made it to the much quieter hall directly outside Hereson's office and heard someone running up behind him. He turned around and saw the general's personal assistant, Richard Morrent, make an abrupt stop a metre from him.

"Something wrong?" Gail asked, assuming the answer was yes. Morrent usually found himself extraordinarily busy during times of crisis.

"Before you go in you need to know," he started, "The train yard was just a diversion. The real target was the port fuel depot."

"I'm aware," he replied, slightly exasperated at hearing such underwhelming news.

"That's not the point," Richard replied, and now it was his turn to be frustrated. "Kesler escaped. She wasn't even there to begin with. It was all a setup, you realise? And we confirmed that Kosra's group bombed the northern barracks early this morning, so half the industrial area's burning and we don't even know who to blame. Rumour is a third group's responsible, and we do _not_ need that right now."

"Do we have any leads at all?" Gail began, but Richard shook his head. "Sorry, but I'm not the one to ask. I need to head back to the sixth floor; they're filming an announcement. I sent Miranda to your old SORT team's rooms again. Considering her history I don't want her on the streets right now." He spun around and ran the other away as quickly as he arrived. Although Gail initially disliked the man for his relaxed approach to work, he was coming to appreciate that his dedication simply came in a different form. He was, after all, not a soldier.

A frowning receptionist waved him through without a word while she listened to someone else through an earpiece, scrawling notes furiously on a notepad. Gail paused in front of the door for a brief moment and pressed a hand into his shoulder. He recovered from the injury on Ibis Island quickly despite its severity, but it seemed there would always be a dull ache to remind him of that night. He welcomed the pain. It was a constant reminder of his failure and the work he'd left unfinished.

He found the general standing at his desk arguing with someone through the phone. Seeing Gail close the door behind him and approach he put the phone down without another word.

"This is not going to plan," Hereson said. His jaw was visibly clenched in frustration, but it wasn't as if Gail needed to be told that they were in trouble.

"We could publicly denounce Royce," Gail suggested.

"Oh, he'd love that, I'm sure. If you can't see how that would backfire then I need a new advisor."

Gail wasn't convinced. "Even if he managed to take the city he wouldn't have the strength to hold it. You both know that. If you let this continue we won't just look autocratic: we'll look incompetent."

"Speaking of incompetence, you've had a remarkable lack of success. Kesler escaped today, and I distinctly remember telling you what would happen if she wasn't killed. I suppose you're not to blame. They're far more organised than they should be. This is what happens when the traitor is the head of intelligence. Although, I used to be in that position, so I really ought to have seen it coming and had Anton sent off to the other side of the country years ago. Or I could've blown up his fleet instead of sending him into exile. Perhaps falsified crimes, something so foul nobody could defend him." Hereson continued in this fashion for some time.

And it was true. Though excusable, his limited success was a source of shame. He could only imagine how much harder that was to handle for Hereson as their leader. Was there a better way to approach the situation? He didn't know, and it was a worrying thought. It was easy to see the right path in hindsight.

"You did make an interesting observation, I'll admit," Hereson continued, falling back into his chair with little of the poise expected of men in his position. "He can agitate all he likes, he can even capture a city or two if he likes; all I need to do is fall back and assemble the entirety of the western armies and he's finished. Nobody wins." He threw his hands up as if to emphasise the futility of the plan.

"No, I refuse to believe a word of this revolutionary zeal. I've known the man for too long. He'll be willing to make a deal. Power, influence, command of the south or eastern districts: he can have it. Perhaps a leadership position in the civilian government? Or I'll cut a decade or two off the slow rise to general and that'll be the end of it."

"You can offer so much, sir?" Gail asked, genuinely surprised.

Hereson laughed. "Our only military threats are to the west after the success of our northern campaign. I may not command the entirety of our army, but certainly the majority of it. As for the rest, none of it is out of reach. We can both come out of this as winners. Another manufactured threat should serve to relieve this tension once it's done. Borginia is a likely target, given recent revelations. I'll need to pay them back for this insurrectionist rubbish. Not in my city, that'll be the message, and they'll remember this time."

He turned his head sharply and glared at the intelligence officer turned advisor. "You know central command is demanding answers? They might be figureheads, but without them to hold this country together it'd split apart, each man taking his share. So I played along with their suggestion, and you'll have to do the same."

Gail listened, observed, and was very careful not to make any personal judgments. That wasn't his place, and people failing to do exactly that was why he could look out the general's window and see an inferno devouring a once prosperous industrial district. It reinforced his certainty that anyone who could order such a thing in their own nation could not be allowed to escape unpunished.

"You. You will make the offer," the general said, a thoughtful stare overtaking his irritated air.

"Sir?"

"I'm sending you back to that island. You're going to meet with my old adversary Anton and you're going to work out an arrangement that satisfies both parties. Actually I've already arranged the meeting, but I hadn't considered sending you until now. He respected you, I remember."

Not enough to ever tell me what he was planning, Gail thought with some bitterness. He knew he'd go without complaint even if he privately would have preferred any assignment but that.

"When do I leave?"

"Let's see," he said thoughtfully. 'Well, you leave in three hours. There's not much you can do about the rebels now, even if I do appreciate that report you made. I've had to move my entire operation to this city because of this, you know. There's a ship waiting in the southern port. I had arranged a western exit, but…" he pointed out the window and shrugged.

"Detailed instructions are already in the ship. Anton has already agreed to this, but you can't give them the slightest excuse to think you're hostile. Oh, and if he's not responsive try to get Lieutenant Colonel Anders alone and offer her the exact same deal. If neither of them are even slightly interested we can assume they think they can win by force despite our superior numbers. This is your operation. I don't care what you need to say, but we need a ceasefire or we need more time. We're not the only sector dealing with this, but I was Royce's commander and they expect me to fix it. That'll be all for now."

He gave a stiff nod. Despite his best efforts the displeasure must have showed in his face, because Hereson frowned and had him stay a moment longer.

"There really is nobody else I could entrust this to, and you're not the one who has to explain today to the rest of the nation. Times like these, for all their misery and misfortunate, see men like yourself rise through the ranks faster in a month than you otherwise would have in a decade. We'll speak again when you return."

The descent from the general's office to the pristine parade ground facing the main stairway to the city passed in a blur. Gail's mind was fixed on the idea of returning to the place and confronting Anton Royce and his collection of traitors. Worse, he knew Rick was there. He knew they would meet. It was inevitable. He didn't know how he would react to seeing the man he'd trained and fought with for half a decade under those circumstances. His team, his training, his choices, and it'd come to this. Two dead, and the other two worse than dead. A failure rate of a hundred percent didn't say much for his ability.

"Is something wrong?" a quiet voice asked, and he realised his legs had taken him to the SORT rooms out of habit. Gail looked up and saw the door to his team's rooms was half open and a pale face was staring at him from the darkened room.

He shook his head. "I forgot these aren't my rooms anymore. Old habit."

She opened the door fully. "They're more yours than mine."

He muttered his thanks and entered. The small, shabby room was a complete mess. Filthy dishes filled the sink, the blinds were almost fully drawn, but he ignored that and collapsed onto the tattered old leather couch. The last memory he had of the place was barking orders at Rick and Regina on the day they'd first met Anton Royce. All she'd cared about, he remembered, was whether he was recovering from his injury or not. Had his inability to open up with them, even for a moment, contributed to their desertion? He tried to focus on the present. There was no use dwelling on painful memories.

"I know I already asked, but are you _sure_ there's nothing wrong?" the young woman standing in the doorway asked, a look of mild concern on her face.

His instinct was to ignore her entirely. Unwanted memories of their last meeting here returned and he realised he was doing it again. Someone, for whatever reason, cared enough to ask how he was with good reason, and he treated it as an insult.

"I've been better," he managed to say against all instinct, his voice straining with the effort.

He was a failure. All evidence pointed to this. His SORT team was finished, half killed and half deserted. The most important mission of his life was left unfinished because he couldn't bring himself to tell Regina that Kirk wasn't the only objective. He'd failed to see Royce's betrayal despite knowing the man for over a decade. He'd failed Rick by leaving him to deal with his internal torments alone, blaming him for daring to hope that Royce's talk of revolution was true. He'd failed James Hereson by not finding a single one of the targets; the general's willingness to share the culpability was a source of even more shame. He'd failed the miserable young woman in front of him before they'd even met.

Worst of all, he'd completely and utterly failed Regina. He'd relied on her extraordinary talent for years. He took everything she had to give and more, and what did he give her in return? Nothing. Even knowing she was to be arrested, the most he could do was petition the general for a pardon, which he generously granted.

And even then he knew on some level it wasn't enough. That day at the funeral ceremony he'd found her alone and uncomfortable at an outdoor café. Even before he arrived it was obvious she desperately wanted to leave and all he could do was engage in the worst kind of small talk before leaving her to be arrested. He'd wanted to tell her. What he needed to say was obvious, but he was too weak to do it. All he had to do was say it. _You're going to be taken in for questioning, but I've handled it. You don't need to worry, just cooperate and you won't be charged._ But of course he didn't. What reason did she have to believe him? None. And yet she'd believed whichever opportunist confronted her at that hotel. _Harper. _That was the name, he was sure.

"You really don't look so good. Do I need to call the medics?" Miranda Pretsin asked, leaning in to look at his face. She seemed genuinely concerned and he hated it.

He shook his head again. "This place brings up its share of bad memories. I'll be leaving soon anyway." Slightly easier the second time. "Why's it so dark?"

"Sorry. I was asleep," she replied, a hint of discomfort catching his attention. The blinds opened slightly and the room filled with a dim light.

If how he felt was bad, she simply radiated misery. Her clothes hung loosely off her emaciated frame, she looked as if standing were difficult, and her expression showed a disturbing mix of lethargy and restlessness.

Yet another failure to add to the list, he thought, but that was pathetic. This was the present. "That question. What's your answer?"

She stared at him. "I'm no better or worse than ever."

He knew that answer all too well. "Do _you_ need the medics?" he asked, though he found it difficult to say why that seemed appropriate.

"_No_," she said, jumping back to the far end of the room.

"Stand in the light," Gail said, restraining himself from making it an order. With a task to complete his muscles began to work once more and he rose to his feet. He pulled the blinds fully open; she looked absolutely terrible.

"There's nothing you can do, so just drop it. My father got himself killed trying to fix me, so don't think anything you've got to say's going to do it." The hatred in her voice was enough to force his own problems out of his mind. Even so, he knew enough to guess at her meaning. Her symptoms were consistent with psychological illness. Her father, despite a respectable career, died in poverty chasing a future free of financial concerns and a home on the coast for his family. Specialist care in Alvernia was extraordinarily expensive. He looked at the window and then back at her. Was this why?

"Look, I'm grateful for the help, but I want you to forget you saw me like this. I'm not going back to a hospital. Not this time."

Well, there was the way out he always wanted. It'd served him so well with Rick and Regina. They'd likely despised him for years. "No."

Miranda was saved from answering by the room's phone. "Yes, he's here," she said, masking every hint of emotion. "Right. I'll tell him."

She delicately set the receiver down. "You've got a boat to catch, apparently."

Ibis Island filled his thoughts and brought the taste of bile to the back of his throat. If he and Regina were to blame for this then how could Royce avoid judgement? All of this was caused by him and his ambition. How much suffering would it take before he was satisfied?

"Come with me," he said, and it emerged in a harsh whisper.

"Where?"

"I'm going to confront Anton Royce. You saw what happened today, and yesterday, and how many days before. This comes down to him."

"Why would you possibly think I could convince a revolutionary leader to stop murdering people?" The sheer absurdity of his request had distracted her, at the very least.

"I know him. What happened to your family is everything he despises about Alvernia, and look at what his methods achieved. Your father was on his staff for a decade. He needs to answer for what he's done. He needs to _see_ what he's done." There was another reason, of course. If he left now it would admitting that he was too weak to change the parts of himself he was coming to despise. And if she killed herself, as was surely possible for anyone in her position…

She stared at his, eyes narrowing in disbelief. "You know what? I don't see how that could be any worse than staying here."

Still, the decision was no easier. Not when they reached the port. Not when Alvernia's western shore vanished in the distance, and not when the scout ship arrived to inspect them well before they reached Ibis Island. He'd nearly called a medical team, but his life had been an unending series of poor decisions. What right did he have to ignore her own choices?

They were escorted to an exterior port on the eastern side of Ibis Island. Royce's fleet, which had grown to more than twice the size of the one he'd watched leave Merestan, was concentrated around the northern coast, but Gail remembered a cargo port on the south side that emerged in the lowest level of the facility. Signs of a brief but violent fight could be seen in several places. The research facility's second floor had been all but destroyed; the heliport and hangar were burned out, and large sections of the forest had been cleared.

"He's going to kill us," Miranda muttered, her eyes fixed on the heavily armed soldiers waiting at the port.

"He'll hear what I've got to say. After that I doubt we'll come to any harm. It's not how he works."

After a second, even more thorough, inspection of their transportation, Gail was greeted by a young man wearing a TRAT officer's uniform. "Well, we can't find anything that shouldn't be there. "Welcome to Ibis Island. I'm First Lieutenant Morton, tasked with escorting you during your short stay."

"No need. I've been here before."

The younger man smiled, clearly unconcerned. "Then I think we have a mutual friend." He glanced over at Miranda. "Nobody mentioned you were bringing a guest, but the Colonel said she's fine to enter." His charms were utterly wasted on her; to his credit he quickly realised the truth of this.

Despite the changing seasons Ibis Island remained warm and sunny, to the point where his thick clothes began to feel uncomfortable no sooner than they'd reached the main entrance. Walking past soldier after soldier, men and women who'd been his allies only a few short months ago, was difficult for Gail, but even worse for the woman he'd brought with him. Not for the first time he wondered if he was condemned to unending interpersonal failure.

"So, where first? I don't mean to be forward, but you know Rick, right? I can take you to see him first, if you'd-"Morton began to say, clearly imagining he was doing Gail a favour. He wasn't, and the older man cut him off to say so.

"I have nothing to say to him."

"He said you'd say that. Was worth a try, anyway," Morton replied with a shrug. "Thing is, the Colonel's waiting for you down below. We don't use floor B3 for much. Structural problems, lack of utility, you can guess, but we'll get to the meeting place, a security office on the generator floor, through that level. Should be nice and private."

His chatter was beginning to irritate them both. It was strange for him to see the facility in such different circumstances, though its new occupants were responding to the intrusion with a mix of curiosity and veiled hostility.

They used one of the two elevators, both now working, he observed, to descend to the lowest floor of the research facility.

"I've never seen anything like this," Miranda murmured as they entered a cavernous corridor. Borginian construction techniques were truly impressive, he had to admit.

"I said the same thing, you know," Morton said, a slight smirk showing on his face. "Compared to home, Borginia must be quite a place."

"We've been enemies with them for decades," Gail stated.

"Yeah, you're not wrong, but we're trying to change that. We've even got a Borginian Ambassador now. She was a prisoner captured in a raid, and now's she's an ally and a friend. Nice story, huh?"

He didn't dignify that with a response, and they remained silent until they reached the stairway to floor B2. Miranda stared curiously at their escort after that, though even Gail found his claim of alliance with Borginia difficult to ignore. They took a longer route than was necessary, likely to keep him away from the generator.

The thick steel plates acting as doors unsealed, sliding into the floor to give them access to the security station separating the Third Energy research laboratories from the rest of the facility. His eyes adjusted to the dim blue lighting. It did little to soothe his nerves.

"What is this?" Royce was absent, but he recognised the woman sitting on a row of consoles at the back.

"I told him you wouldn't want to speak to your old friend, but he just didn't listen," she said, looking at nobody in particular.

Was this deliberate? Royce had used Anders' cold indifference as a shield for years, and she was always just one step below him in rank. If she was here he would have to be close.

Morton waited at the door, evidently tasked with observing. Miranda stood at his side, one glance from the lieutenant colonel enough to keep her as far away as she could get.

"That you're here means James is worried," she stated, leaving no room for argument. "And it was a complete waste of time. Nothing he can offer will suffice."

"How arrogant. What is it you really want? He's willing to compromise but you'll tear your own nation in half because it's just not enough." Gail replied, not bothering to hide his disgust.

Anders nearly smiled. Not quite, but it was closer than usual. "Our nation deserves to be torn apart. The people agree with us, as I'm sure you must know by now. What do you offer? Nothing but poverty and an endless series of pointless wars. I never liked you, I'm afraid. So much stubbornness, and all for nothing of worth."

"And what have you achieved? You'll take a city, maybe two, maybe more. You'll kill thousands. And even if you survive the counterattack, which you won't, then what? You'll have turned a puppet state into a military dictatorship, and I don't care how benevolent you think you are."

"Legitimate concerns, no doubt. There will be a period of transition, but before that we'll maintain control for long enough to sweep the current leadership away." She leaned in, eyes shining with excitement. "That includes our pathetic shell of a civilian government."

"And you think you're the one to make it happen? We both know what you've done. How many people have you had killed, and how many of them deserved it? We both know what you've done."

"None of them deserved it. You think Borginia ever actually threatened us? What about the independent states to our north that just wouldn't cooperate? You were fortunate enough to avoid that one, I recall. The things we did to those people were indescribable. Remember, Gail, the government you're protecting is responsible for all of it, even if I was the one to make it happen. Oh, but how could we dare protest? That was the government's view, wasn't it? Just stay quiet and pretend it's not happening. It must be so easy to live without a spine."

The spite in her soft voice was one thing, but to be called spineless for making decisions that isolated him from everything he'd ever wanted? He rose to his feet, jaw clenched, tired of looking at her face and listening to her insults. Morton's hand edged toward the pistol on his hip, slowly and carefully, but he wasn't going to attack her.

"Enough," a much calmer voice said at the door, accompanied by a sharp gasp from the woman hiding behind Morton's armour.

Gail looked over his shoulder, but there was no need. He recognised the voice all too well. Anton Royce was standing in the doorway, obviously having listened to the entire conversation. He stepped into the room. Taller even than Gail, Royce's imposing figure had grown more gaunt since their last meeting. His pale eyes fixed themselves on Anders, who nodded a response to the message that stare was supposed to communicate.

"You'll have to forgive me for that, but she has a way of getting to people's true feelings, don't you think?" he said.

He didn't respond.

The Colonel stopped and looked in the shadows behind Dylan. "They said there was a woman with you, but I never thought," he said, voice trailing off at the sight of a stone-faced Miranda Pretsin. "I'm surprised you're here," he finally said. An obvious statement, perhaps, but if Royce knew what Gail suspected, that could easily have another meaning.

"I doubt it, but what difference does it make?" she replied. Her lack of fear or subservience attracted Anders' interest, which was rarely a good thing in his experience.

"You see?" she asked, addressing Gail. "The girl looks like a corpse and she's still got a spine. It's not so hard."

"Enough_," _Royce snapped, and his drastic change in tone silenced them all. So she'd finally crossed a line, and even Morton's jaw was clenched in anger. Was it so obvious?

"I know why you're here, but I can do nothing for you. Your father was not murdered on my orders." He turned back to Gail. "After all this time, do you actually believe I could order what happened to this girl's family? Father executed from behind, her mother's throat cut on the street, and for what?"

"No,' he said, "but you need to understand. You think she's alone? That _you_ of all people would claim this moral high ground is absurd. Have you seen what you've done to your own country in the last month alone? Of course you haven't." He sneered at Anders. 'You think I'm spineless? You're the one masking your own ambitions because you can't bear to admit that you might just want more power than you've got. Everywhere you go, everything you do, you leave hundreds like her behind. Lives ruined, families shattered. You think being able to kill without remorse is enough to prove you're not a coward?"

And now it was her turn to restrain anger. He knew they could kill him, and he knew they wouldn't. Anton Royce stared, clearly debating something with himself.

"Sir," a quiet voice asked from the entrance, breaking the spell of silence. Morton was standing with Miranda, an uncomfortable look overtaking his professional blank stare. Gail saw why immediately. She was shaking lightly, eyes fixed on the wall behind both senior officers.

"Take her outside and call a doctor. Tell them to look in our personnel files under Pretsin; her father's file should be of use," Royce said, visibly troubled. Morton paused, glancing over at Gail. "Go on," he continued. "Gail is a personal friend of mine and our guest."

"This is why he betrayed me, isn't it?" Royce asked when they'd left, his authoritative air vanishing. "I knew, of course, much like I knew the backgrounds of all my staff. Still, such an oversight... it may have been a mistake to bring her here."

Gail nodded. "He did it for his family. Good intentions ruined by poor methods."

"Don't you see this is what we're fighting for? A world in which a man doesn't have to betray his friends and colleagues to pay for his daughter's medical care?"

"As I said. Good intentions ruined by poor methods."

"Then tell me something else. Who did kill her parents? Hereson was my guess until they told me his secretary had been executed too. But they're blaming it on your friend, the one I made a lieutenant? Why would she have done that?"

Gail knew, or thought he knew, enough to answer. Would it be a betrayal? He was too tired to care, and he knew Royce was more likely to solve this mystery than he was.

"I investigated this for the general. We came to the conclusion, based on evidence left behind by John Pretsin, that Edward Kirk survived the foundry demolition. He connected several officers to the man. You were one, as was your personal assistant. Regina was another. Kesler was another. None of those names were unusual. The last, Frank Harper, was sent here with the first wave. That name is my only lead."

Anders ran a hand over her face. "And here I thought he'd simply deserted, as he always threatened he would."

Royce sighed. "I warned you. Efficiency, capability, intelligence: it all means nothing if a man is unstable."

"You know nothing about it," she shot back. "Still, that puts Kesler's news in a different light." She looked directly at Gail. "Your friend Regina was with him. This week."

He understood her implication. "So the fuel depot was their work?" It pained him to even think it.

Anders nodded and stood up, head turned to conceal her amusement.

"When he contacted my forces I offered him the chance to prove his commitment. His choice of the depot sent a clear message: whoever holds the city will find their occupation much more difficult without it. Hereson, us, anyone."

"Leave this to me," Anders stated, turning back to face them. "I'm to blame for not having him dealt with a long time ago."

"You understand what this means?" Gail said, realising this problem affected them both even if they were enemies. "We went to all the trouble of finding Kirk only to lose him to… to what?"

"_Warning: fuel leak detected on floor B3. Evacuate immediately. Repeat, fuel leak detected on floor B3. Evacuate immediately" _Gail immediately recognised the metallic female voice as that of the facility's automated security system.

"What? We spent weeks dismantling that ruined generator, this shouldn't be happening," Royce said, his fist curling from frustration.

Gail watched the security screens for input, but they were only limited to the second underground floor. He tried to change that until he felt the barrel of a pistol pressed to his stomach.

"So, you kept us talking for long enough to do what, Gail?" Anders whispered in his ear, her soft voice filled with eagerness. "Perhaps you're working with Harper? No, he'd have killed you. You're too stubborn for someone like him to manipulate, you see. Tell me now and you-"

"I said_ enough_," Royce said, crossing the room within a second and pulling the two of them apart as if they were made of paper. For the briefest second Gail saw a flash of something like disgust on the Colonel's face. Anders held the pistol at her side, the look in her eyes enough to tell him she likely hadn't even believed he was the cause of the leak.

"_Warning: sealing elevator access to floor B3. Contamination origin: main generator. All remaining personnel, evacuate immediately"_

The doors burst open and she held the pistol at the procession of people who stormed in for a second before lowering it. Morton was back, as was Miranda and a woman in a medic's uniform. Another woman with dark hair and foreign features waited at the back with… well, he couldn't say he was surprised. At the sight of each other he and Rick stopped, both unable to speak or move, before the younger man shook his head and saluted.

"Well, what's the situation?" the Colonel asked, looking at Rick for answers.

"I'm unsure, sir," Rick said. The technical expert was having an incredibly difficult time keeping his gaze away from Gail, and it seemed as if everyone in the room knew it. "Floor B3 was unstaffed except for two guards at the port. Neither have evacuated."

"So get the hazmat teams down there before this gets any worse."

"That's not it, sir. Shortly after arriving here I updated the security systems to report when certain areas of the facility were accessed." The Borginian woman put a laptop on the desk and opened it. A map of the entire facility was shown, with every door opening logged. Royce watched for a moment until the door from the generator room to the control area was logged as unsealed.

"A fuel leak would kill anyone in that area, but someone's down there," Rick pointed out. As difficult as it was, Gail felt a distinct amount of pride that at least someone he'd trained had found a place for himself.

"We can't bring in support from the upper levels,' Anders pointed out. "I'll handle this personally, sir." The door to the backup generator was opened, and Rick's program blasted a sharp alert when the door to the weapons storage was opened.

Royce looked at them. "It seems we have no choice. I'll coordinate our security above from here; this may be more than a mere intrusion. Morton, Rick, and Weaver: you're with her. I'll send the B2 guards after you. Take every precaution. Ms Pretsin, you'll stay with me. We'll keep you safe, you have my word." She sank down against the wall by the door, but seemed undisturbed by his words.

"I'd like to go with them," Gail said. If not Borginia, the only person who knew what was hidden down there was… but Kirk would never risk capture. Not like this. Could _she_ be there?

"I can't afford to refuse. You know why as well as I do, Gail. No weapons, just observation."

It felt better than he'd ever imagined, running down those cavernous halls once more. To have purpose, and a goal, and something to hunt down and attack. They descended the stairs and used the transport passages at the rear to bypass the generator and its supposed fuel leak. It was a critical design flaw, they all realised, to not include a stair from the ground floor to the lowest level.

"Orders, sir?" asked Morton as they approached the thick steel shutter outside the weapons storage area.

"Approach with caution. Any sign of a fuel leak and you fall back immediately. Priority is the special weapons storage. Capture or kill, I'll leave that to you. Move out," Anders ordered, her soft tone replaced by the harsh voice of an experienced commander.

"Lieutenant Colonel," Rick said, attracting her attention with a portable screen. "We're cut off from the upper floors. All elevators disabled." She grimaced at the news but remained silent.

Rick approached the shutter's control panel, the same woman following every move he made. Both of them had pistols, and as he pulled the activation lever they made full eye contact for the first time. The shutter on the opposite side was rolling down and two men sprinted through, narrowly avoiding a burst of shots from Anders and Morton. One was carrying a thick black case.

Gail sprinted through the opening first and took cover behind the same ruined truck he'd seen on his first visit, but the rest of them were determined to follow before the shutter sealed their targets on the other side.

Without the time to make a full assessment he rolled under the shutter moments before it closed. As expected the controls had been sabotaged. "Take them out," Anders shouted as one of the men slipped into the control room. She seized the rifle from Morton's back and fired at the other one, catching his upper thigh and forcing him to leap to safety. Again, the door sealed behind them.

"Hold on," Rick shouted, running up to an access panel on its side. Within moments their path was clear, as he knew was inevitable. He stayed at the back, feeling all but naked without a weapon. There was something else, a warning in the back of his mind, that pursing armed targets in this manner was incredibly dangerous.

Morton cleared the small control room, but they'd already left for the cavernous hall on the other side, as proved by the trail of blood from the wounded man's leg.

He pulled Rick aside by the shoulder. It was so much easier to speak when working. "Rick, you saw that case?"

The younger man nodded, his expression grim. "It's got to be the Stabilizer. We're going to have to work together, even if this is the last time."

They entered the cargo hall beyond with all precautions taken, but it made no difference. A veritable mountain of broken parts and sheet metal, the remains of the facility's main generator, had turned the warehouse into a maze. They'd no sooner seen the trail of blood leading into one section than four men ambushed them, each from a different direction. It was a skilful manoeuvre, one that he would've been impressed to observe from an experienced operative. Morton was the only one to respond in time, firing a burst to his right. A single return shot tore through his upper body and the man fell to the floor gasping for breath, hands held to a spot below his left shoulder.

It was over within ten seconds. He even counted to be sure. They were all disarmed and thrown to the floor. Their captors worth facemasks to cover their mouths and each wore a distinctive grey jacket. There was something to be said, he thought, for the fact that after all his struggles to remain true to the rightful authorities he was still going to die fighting with Anton Royce and his forces.

The silence was broken by a mocking clap from the man standing in front. One of his comrades in the back fell to his knees, blood seeping from a bullet wound in his thigh. "I was expecting this to be a gunfight, if you must know. That you actually fell for it? Absolutely pitiful." His voice was seething with undisguised contempt.

Anders rose to her feet, undisturbed by the submachine gun aimed at her chest. Gail did the same, unafraid to die. The lone woman in their captor's force pulled their weapons away with her boot and the wounded man threw them toward the broken cargo elevator's entry shutter. The black case lay by the back wall.

"There's no need to hide yourself from me. Not anymore." Anders took a step closer and the leader raised his pistol, a slight movement away from ending half their rebellion's leadership. The woman in grey visibly scowled at her presence.

His grey eyes looked between them. Rick and his Borginian friend, Morton as he slowly bled out on the floor, the lieutenant colonel, and Gail himself, before he shrugged.

"How could I refuse an opportunity as promising as this?" his left hand reached up and removed the mask, revealing a harsh face that Gail had seen only in print. The spite communicated by his slight smirk was highlighted by the intensity of his stare, fixed on the woman in front of him.

Both Rick and his companion gasped with shock and Harper looked over, as if he'd only just remembered them. "Well, I certainly didn't see this coming. Not only didn't you kill her, you actually _befriended_ her?" He burst into laughter. "We've got more in common than you think, Rick_._" More laughter followed, as he were unable to believe his luck. Notably, Gail thought, two of his accomplices glanced at each other. Concern? Morton was coughing, a spreading pool of blood surrounding the young officer.

Harper finally stopped laughing and stared again at all of them. "I've already won, you know, and I'm not the type to say that lightly."

Anders snorted. "What have you won? The only thing you could ever do was destroy. People, lives, places."

The smirk was replaced by an expression filled with hate; Harper smashed the base of her jaw with his pistol, faltered a moment, and slammed his forehead into hers with a sharp crack. Anders spat out a broken tooth, her face smeared with blood, and he threw her to the floor. "If I _ever_ have to hear you condescend to me again I'll cut out your tongue," he snarled, kicking her ribs with his boot to emphasise his words and the contempt in them.

Rick jumped to his feet in such a rage that he ignored the woman holding a submachine gun to his chest. "_That's enough,_" he shouted, the indignation in his voice echoing throughout the hall.

Harper turned and stared. "It'll never be enough. If you knew what I did you'd cut her throat on the spot."

But Rick ignored that. He was too angry for debate, too disgusted for compromise. "What do you even want? Just take it and go. What have we done to you? Can't you see Dylan's going to die if you don't let us help him?" His voice was frantic, hands shaking.

"Of course he's going to die. Everyone I meet dies," Harper replied. All signs of the uncontrollable rage he'd shown while beating Anders had vanished behind his mask of a smile.

"Is that what happened to Regina?" Gail finally asked. He refused to sit there and listen a moment longer without knowing.

Harper slammed a boot into Anders' back when she tried to rise. "Oh, no, I didn't kill _her_. Why would I do that? We're such good friends, and friends don't just kill each other. " He was barely holding in more laughter.

"Then tell me. Why you? What do you want? What could you possibly have said to make her help you?" It was difficult not to lunge forward and snap his neck, even knowing he'd be killed instantly.

"Why not me? I was the first person to ever go out of my way to do something for her, you know. That means a great deal more than you ever realised, clearly. Leaving your friend and prodigy to be _arrested_? Beaten and tortured and raped and who knows what else they'd have done. You ought to get on your knees and thank me. Or perhaps she wasn't receptive to your charms, so you thought there was an easier way? But you're not that type, are you?" Harper sneered, his piercing grey eyes locked onto his adversary.

Gail was saved from a quick death at the hands of Harper's gunners by the heavy slam of a door. An older man in a suit was staring at them from the entrance to the backup generator. Upon realising his allies were in control he ran across at a slow pace, but was forced to the floor by a burst of gunfire from the far entrance.

In hindsight the moments that followed remained a blur to all involved. Gail distinctly remembered a TRAT soldier turning the corner only to be shot in the head. The three that followed took cover, gunning down the wounded insurgent instantly and entering a protracted firefight with the other three. He recalled seeing Weaver pull Rick to the floor, the two of them holding each other as each side traded shots overhead. Lieutenant Morton was beginning to slow, his movements weaker each minute. The sight of his blonde hair soaked in his own blood as he lay there helpless was particularly poignant.

Ultimately the pitiful reinforcements proved themselves a poor match for Harper's experienced professionals. The effectiveness of his team, limited as they were by numbers, showed they'd been working together for years.

When the shooting stopped only two fighters remained. Harper himself and the young woman in the grey jacket.

And yet instead of turning back to laugh at them, his first thoughts were the older man in the suit. He'd been shot in the arm before falling and their adversary almost seemed panicked. "It's done, you don't need to worry about me, you need to leave," he heard the older man murmur.

Anders stood up, one hand on her knee for leverage, the other holding a bloodstained piece of metal. If she was in any pain from Harper's assault it didn't show. His companion watched her with the submachine gun, growing visibly more anxious by the minute. "So Kosirim's here too?" she muttered, spitting out more blood.

She made eye contact, and for the first time without disdain or malice, before her gaze shifted to the gunner, and then to Harper. He glanced at Rick and saw him desperately trying to stop the bleeding from Morton's wound, his friend at his side the entire time.

Harper turned back, the tall man in the suit at his side with a firm hand wrapped around his injured arm. "That's our cue to leave. I wanted more time to play with you the way you did me, Anders, but this is going to have to do." He raised the pistol, a maniacal smirk on his face at the prospect of killing the woman, but it faltered, and the hand holding the pistol twitched as if uncertain. And Gail followed his gaze, and when he saw what he'd done he realised he was, in every way, an irredeemable failure of a man. The miserable woman he'd allowed to come with him was standing before them, the bodies of the TRAT soldiers on either side of her and her parents' murderer glaring at her with a pistol in his hand.

He turned back to Gail in a frenzy, his controlled facade showing itself for the mask it was. "_You think this changes anything_?" he shouted, eyes burning with hatred.

With his back turned even for a second Anders slammed the shard of metal into his back with as much force as her injured body could generate and pulled the pistol from his hands. His ally turned and fired, but her burst was redirected at the ground when she saw their proximity. The window of opportunity was less than a second and it was more than enough. Gail's fist hit her skull with a sickening crunch and she collapsed to the floor with a scream of pain. His second priority was the black case, which he seized and threw to Rick with a single motion.

"Still think I'm spineless?"

Anders turned back, the gun pressed to Harper's head and grinned at him. "That's for you to decide." Her dark blue uniform was stained with blood and her eyes were wild with exhilaration. Gail held the submachine gun to the injured woman's back, his hand on the trigger. They were all watching. Rick was leaning against the back wall, a hand shrouding his face from the outside world. Weaver stood at his side, her expression grim. And there she was. Miranda Pretsin was staring into Harper's eyes, and Gail lowered the gun again.

"You're the one, aren't you?" she said. No tears, no accusing tone, just curiosity.

"I am. I murdered your mother. I lured your father into a trap and shot him in the back of the head."

"Why?" Her voice cracked, but only barely.

He laughed again, without the slightest hint of humour. "Because they were in my way. If they didn't die we would have, and I couldn't allow that before our work is complete. It was a selfish choice, but it had to be done."

"That's enough, Harper," Gail said. His words echoed around the hall, silencing them both. Anders pressed the gun harder into the back of his head. Miranda shrank back, pressing herself against the wall.

"Oh, but it's not. You think I'm a monster? All it took was ten minutes and your precious Regina was right there with me. _We_ killed them, just as much as you've killed me when this loathsome cunt finally puts the bullet in my head." He spat the words, but Anders showed no reaction to the insult.

"I don't believe it. Regina wouldn't do that," Rick said, almost in a whisper. The troubling thing was, Gail did believe it.

"Why? What do you think she exists for? A soldier, a scientist, a mother? At the end of the day, they're not so different, all meat. But you know what I like? She _knows_ what she is and she hates it. She doesn't want to be a murderer, but what else could she be? I admire that more than you'll ever know."

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her she was going to be arrested. That she'd been abandoned. I said we had to stop Pretsin or we'd all die, and it was true. He was going to put a bullet in Kirk's head, and do you know how much effort it took to get him alone?"

Gail wanted to respond; Harper didn't give him an opportunity. "But she needed me, you understand? Someone who understood how it works and was willing to share. Someone who wasn't _you. _She didn't ever think you were on her side, you know? Knew you were in on Hereson's arrest plot all along. Even Kirk has more appeal than you. " He laughed, using his last opportunity to hit every weak spot he could. "Since I'm about to expire why not be honest? She wants nothing to do with you, or with Royce, or with Hereson. Only me. I fucked her too, did you know that? I know from experience, it feels great to wake up after a lifetime of lies. Perhaps she wanted to celebrate her freedom, what do you think?" It was too much. He had to be lying.

"You've said enough," Anders stated, pulling him aside. "Do you know, I thought pulling you – and you", she said, with a glance at Kosirim, "from the internment camps and putting your skills to better use was so generous, and look at the trouble you've caused."

She pushed him aside. "Evidently you'll have to be punished, and I'm not quite ready to kill you." She turned around and shot Kosirim in the leg. He fell to the floor and looked up at Harper with a tired smile. Only then did Gail see the small black box in his hand: far too late to prevent his thumb from flipping a small switch on its side. Anders looked back at Harper with a sneer and pulled the trigger again, firing a single shot through the old man's head.

Harper fell silent the moment his friend died. His grey eyes were fixed on the corpse; the slowly spreading pool of blood; the pieces of skull and brain littering the floor beneath him.

Gail was a veteran soldier; death was something he'd come to expect. Even so, what she'd done felt undeniably perverse. Executing a man not for his crimes, not because he was a danger, not even to further a plan: she did it because she knew it would make someone suffer.

"Not a bad response, if underwhelming," Anders said, deep in thought. "I expect we'll have to work on that. Was it fifteen years you'd known each other? Something of a father figure, I recall." Her hand shifted, aiming at the injured woman laying by Gail's boot, her long brown hair caked in blood from the impact. "Does this make you feel anything? A dear friend? You know pretending not to care won't make any difference, but still you insist on this act?" She sighed as if he were an utter disappointment.

The injured woman looked up at Anders, clearly terrified, and tried to crawl toward the corpse of one of her allies and the pistol by his side, but the lieutenant colonel shot her outstretched arm and looked back at Harper, ignoring the woman's scream entirely. His hands were shaking, but he refused to speak. "Still nothing? No pleading this time? Well, if that's-"

Gail saw Rick stand up and gestured at him to remain still. Even he couldn't watch any more. "What do you think you're doing, Anders? Kill him or take them as captives. This is beneath you." How could someone so sadistic ever hope to change the world for the better? Even his own hatred for the man was souring in the face of her brutality. Anders stared at him for a long moment. "You should know better than to interfere in the affairs of others by now, Gail."

Harper suddenly looked up. "Do you understand now?" He was staring directly at Gail as if the rest of them were utterly inconsequential. Gail met his stare but remained silent until the captive looked away. "We'll be parting ways now. I'm afraid there will be more orphans by the time this is done," Harper said in a much softer, almost apologetic tone. Gail looked back, but his grey eyes were fixed on Miranda Pretsin, leaning against the back wall with her head in her hands and a look of shock etched into her eyes.

He realised a second too late. "_Get down_," he shouted, falling to the floor as the entire building began to shake. The proximity of the blast replaced every noise with a sharp ringing in his ears, but they were all thrown to the ground by the violence of the blast. The lights flickered off and on before failing entirely, though he was sure he heard someone firing a pistol in the darkness.

By the time the shaking stopped it was over. They sat there in darkness for some time, unwilling to break the silence. They all knew he was gone.

After perhaps an hour the emergency lighting was restored, filling the hall with a dull red light that only served to highlight the butchery.

"He got away," Rick whispered. His eyes were filled with tears, his hands grasping the black case. Weaver's hand was on the dying lieutenant's chest, but there was nothing else they could do for him.

"Of course he ran. That's all he can ever do," Anders said, pushing Kosirim's corpse aside with her boot. Her blonde hair was loose and stained with blood, but her mannerisms were cold and polite once more.

Anton Royce was watching from the control room entrance. How much he'd seen Gail didn't know, and he didn't bother asking. He didn't want to know.

The woman he'd knocked to the floor had also vanished. Gail knew the facility too well; they'd have used the underground port, and his suspicions were confirmed he found the port guards dead at their posts and a log showing an allied cargo ship had left within the last hour. He took the opportunity to stare at the calm water and make sense of what he'd just witnessed, enjoying a rare hour entirely alone.

"Gail," a soft voice said from behind.

He turned to face the man as an equal. "I'm to blame. For you, and for her."

"Stubborn as ever, I see," Rick replied, attempting a smile and failing. "I joined Royce because I believe in what he's doing. You stayed behind for the same reason. We've got to have enough faith in Regina to say she must've done the same, right?"

"How could she ever choose _him_ over us?" The question had come over him like a spell of paralysis. Even during Harper's taunts, all he could do was listen, the accusations repeating themselves over and over. He'd never had a personal enemy. Not one of the men he'd fought had done so out of personal malice. Harper's voice was like a weapon in itself, twisting inside his thoughts and drawing out every fear, every worry, and exposing them in the guise of truth.

"That's what we'll have to ask her. Regina's always made the right call in the past, and I don't know about you, but there was something else going on in there so I'm going to reserve judgement. I don't want to fight you, Gail, but we have to follow our ideals, and so does she. We're all at risk now."

He still knew what he ought to ask. "Your friend. The lieutenant. Did he..." he trailed off, leaving it unsaid.

Rick shook his head. "They're operating now, but I don't know. He lost a lot of blood even if the bullet didn't hit his lung."

"I'd tell you not to give up on him yet, but I know you too well." He nodded. "As for Regina, I'll have to trust you this time."

Rick smiled in earnest this time. The gratitude he felt for Gail's words showed in his eyes. "And I'll have to trust you. You're going back to Merestan first, right? So you've got the chance to find her before I do."

"Um, excuse me," a quiet woman said from the port's entrance. Miranda and Weaver were watching them from the entrance.

"I never should have brought you here. I apologise," he said, lowering his head in shame.

"I needed to meet him, and I did." Miranda said. "I... he wasn't what I expected him to be," she added in a near whisper. His first priority upon return would be her safety. The general owed him that much. Nobody who'd witnessed what she just had, least of all someone in her condition, could be left alone after their first exposure to violence on that level; even if their adversary hadn't threatened her, her appearance had certainly caused an erratic shift in his behaviour.

"Oh, Gail, this is Melissa Weaver. We tried to kill each other; now we're friends. And she's our Borginian Ambassador." He couldn't help but smile while saying it and Gail knew he was getting far too attached as usual. "Harper was there when we met," he added in a far less cheerful tone. "He saved me from her during the first attack, and I saved him. I never would have guessed he would do this."

Gail raised an eyebrow, but the ambassador wasn't interested. "Strange how these things turn out, isn't it? Still, before we start celebrating isn't this," she said, holding up the black case, "supposed to have something in it?" The case was entirely empty, hanging off her finger while she stared at them in utter confusion.

Nothing was said for a moment. Both of them had to process the enormity of the mistake they'd made and the unending sequence of potential consequences. After all the effort they put into that trap he'd been so sure that was their plan, but...

"If the Stabilizer's not in there…" Rick whispered, staring at Gail in the vain hope that the older man would have a solution.

He didn't. "He tricked us. Even if we'd killed him, he'd already sent the devices back to the ship."

"And does that mean what I think it means?"

"If it does, it's not going to matter how large an army you find. We're all finished."


	15. Chapter 15

_Note: If this wasn't obvious already it would be irresponsible not to make it clear now. Based on the rating guide this site uses this story is best considered 'MA'. This will be especially true from this point on. Expect graphic violence, physical and psychological torture, references to sexual abuse, and similar. I don't intend to throw these things in gratuitously, but both the story and backstory rely heavily on that content which up until now has mostly been implied. I'll post a short spoiler-free warning above chapters containing this content, if only because the rating system doesn't allow me to express it there.  
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"I must've neglected to mention this. More likely you're perfectly aware and did this to spite me," an unjustifiably exhausted man said, gasping for breath with his hands on his knees for support, "but my physical ability is not one of my better attributes."

"Oh, really? I had no idea. When was the last time you even saw the sun?" his companion called back from her position in front of him.

"Does today count, or is there too much smoke for that?" he said, standing up with a grimace.

"It'll have to do. Enjoy it while it lasts, I don't think we're going to get another opportunity," she said with a glance over her shoulder. Making sure he hadn't dropped dead from exhaustion, no doubt.

Despite his admittedly embarrassing physical condition, Edward Kirk found he indeed was coming to enjoy it as she so clearly hoped he would. With a tremendous amount of effort he pulled himself up, covered in sweat despite the mildness of the day.

He was under no illusions as to her reasons. Their tentative friendship, though he had difficulty even thinking that word, was a fragile thing, and he was finding it increasingly difficult to judge her. His thoughts had been growing disjointed, he knew, and it was showing in his erratic behaviour. Restraining that, even for a time, was never as easy as it looked.

Making sense of who she was difficult enough, let alone how she thought, but a distraction was something he'd never needed more. When Regina found him sprawled against the iron wall of the generator hall, eyes staring blanking at his creation, she understood instantly without a single word. _Something is wrong. No, I don't want to talk about it. Yes, even if I'll never say it, even if I'll laugh at you and insult you if you ask, I don't want you to leave either. _And so she closed the door and sat against the same iron wall until the ridiculousness of the situation, both of them sitting against a hard wall watching a piece of sheet metal, was enough to break his spell of rumination.

Just as he understood their rapport would be crushed if she pushed him too far, he also understood someone was offering him an opportunity to share something for the first time in far too many years. They needed each other, and if that was shameful he no longer had the strength to care.

And so they'd left the safety of the underground compound, tasking Mirzin with waiting for Harper's return without another thought for the specifics. It'd been four days and he was still out of contact. Close, too close, but not quite out of the time frame he'd given them. Still, by any measure he was taking too long. They left and he followed her through the coastal districts for some hours only to arrive on the slope of the north-western mountains. To his surprise there were few patrols left in the western sector, though a wry comment from Regina put an end to his speculation. They'd pulled out for their own safety after widespread backlash by the residents of the area.

It seemed the situation was coming to a critical point, one way or another. The streets were lined with posters advertising a public address by General Hereson and several government ministers in the days ahead. Security would be unprecedented, no doubt, but they were at least willing to try the diplomatic option before unleashing the army.

"You're falling behind again," Regina said as he struggled up a particularly steep slope, watching from above with obvious amusement. "Don't worry, I'll let you take a break." He fell to his knees again, breathing more heavily than he had in years. Hiking was more difficult than it looked, and it certainly didn't look easy. He watched Regina looking out at the city below, her windswept hair partially obscuring a look of surprise.

He looked up and realised they'd reached a grassy plain high on the slopes of the mountain. The sound of running water brought a narrow stream to his attention; it was an entirely unfamiliar sight. The first blades of green grass returning after the summer heat, small birds perched on a boulder watching their every move, the vivid blue of the afternoon sky tainted by thick clouds of black smoke in the west.

With some effort he rose from the ground and stood next to her, taking in the city from above. The western command centre rose far above the rows of buildings below, an unforgettable reminder of the state military's power and influence. Even ignoring the ongoing fire at the fuel depot there were four columns of smoke marking the sites of even more conflict, two in the west and two in the south. An armed convey was leaving the deployment gate of the command centre, and from their height he could see countless more signs that the military was preparing for a siege. Taking such a fortress would be a challenge regardless of how many men you had with you.

"So he's really going to do it, isn't he?" he murmured, trying to take in and understand every detail at once. "I never believed it. What difference does he expect to make?"

Regina was watching him, he knew. Observing the way she always did. "It's hard to believe. We were right in the middle of it. Royce would've had us both with him on the island and that would've been that." She adjusted her jacket, deliberately avoiding his gaze.

"Is that what you wanted?"

She shook her head and sighed. "Not really, no. I… I'm sick of being ordered around, to tell you the truth. When was the last time I did anything for myself, or even had a friend who hadn't seen me kill someone? So I've decided I'm done obeying commands. Treat me like an equal or do it yourself, how's that for a life philosophy?

It was everything he'd wanted to hear. To watch someone come to terms with their station in life only to reject it? That was satisfaction. That was what he'd been unable to do for so long.

"You're valued as a weapon. I'm valued because I create weapons. If we refuse to perform those functions we'll be rendered worthless." It was a truth he'd come to accept many years before they met.

"Worthless? And who's making that judgement?"

He shrugged. Wasn't it obvious? "People with power, of course. And if there's one thing I've learned it's that I'm not one of them."

"So you're saying I should beat myself up because people like Royce and Hereson might think we're worthless?"

An argumentative day. Lovely. "You've misinterpreted me. We're no less dangerous, only now we're alone and unpredictable. If you still think they'll allow that to continue then I'm afraid this isn't going to have a pleasant end." He was growing fond of her company, even to admire certain aspects of her personality and her view on the world. It made no difference if she refused to accept the reality of their situation.

A sharp laugh broke through his inner monologue and he saw her grinning at him from the side as if he was the stupid one. "So you actually think I brought you halfway up a mountain just for fresh air?"

He stumbled over his words for a moment, trying to salvage the situation and hide the fact that he'd been so glad for an excuse to stop thinking that he hadn't considered an ulterior motive. Well, nobody else was present, they were on the scenic slopes of a mountain looking out at the overwhelmed city below, and she'd left Mirzin behind deliberately. But no, _that_ couldn't be it. He turned his head sharply and saw she was barely restraining laughter at his expense.

"I really thought you'd have figured this out. Don't worry, everyone has their bad days."

Oh, she was certainly enjoying herself. "Just spit it out, would you?"

"Well, you said it yourself. When Harper said he'd get your Stabilizer did you stop to consider what that meant or just nod blankly and wave him out the door?" He remained silent. "I thought so. But I watched them prepare. Kesler's explosives, submachine guns, facemasks: if he fails, and even if he doesn't, they're going to come after us. Breaking into that place was hell even with all the guards dead and he's still going to try it."

"I see. Not so naïve after all, are you?"

Regina pulled a backpack off her shoulders and sat in the grass. "Just what do you think he's after anyway? I can't figure it out. He hates the government and he hates Royce's people. Sometimes I think if I say the wrong thing he's just going to kill me without a second thought, but so far he's done the exact opposite." He recalled her description of the man smiling at John Pretsin's wife a moment before slashing her throat and was sure she was thinking of the exact same moment.

"Some people prefer the chaos to the end result, I know," Kirk said, enjoying the chance to speculate. Distractions, puzzles, questions, and space: she was learning. "Still, that doesn't explain why he and his merry band of followers have gone to all this trouble. A personal grudge could be it, but maybe not. I'm afraid you've got two choices: ask him yourself or wait until he tells us what we ought to do with the Stabilizer he's so generously gone to get." He sat down next to her, the muscles in his legs rejoicing at the opportunity to rest. "What's your guess? You're the only one he speaks to, you know."

"I don't know, and that's why we're all the way out here. I'm not going back until I know what's happened, and I suggest you do the same. Shouldn't be too much longer. And you're wrong, anyway. I've seen him with those friends he keeps away from us and he seems to value them."

Regina pulled two bottles of water from her bag and threw one at him. It was only prudent, of course, but he hadn't considered the situation quite as carefully as she had. His mind had been otherwise occupied for weeks.

The day was only growing warmer, though the high mountain winds were cool enough to keep it comfortable. Edward's eyes were fixed on the western coast and the things he knew were concealed beneath it until his companion turned and pulled off her coat, revealing a sleeveless black shirt and holstered pistol underneath.

Her skin was quite pale, as could be expected of someone with Regina's lifestyle, but he could see the lean muscle under the skin even when she was relaxed. It would be easy to become self-conscious about his own deplorable physique, but there was no shame in focusing on your strengths and that was what they'd both done in their own way. His poor habits—barely eating or sleeping for years, particularly—had resulted in a near skeletal frame, something he took care to conceal.

"Not very subtle, are you?" she asked, throwing the coat carelessly to the side.

With far too much difficulty he looked up and re-established eye contact. "You're not usually seen outside of uniforms and clothes that might as well be uniforms, and it's still difficult for me to actually believe that people don't just remain the same person their entire lives. Who'd have guessed you were just another woman under that mask? But that was your idea, wasn't it?"

There was something decidedly fascinating about superiority in all its forms, he'd always thought, no doubt in large part due to his own mind and emotions being so separate from the rest of the world. His sense of self had been built on his intellectual superiority for so long that it was only natural. Still, faced with what she'd accomplished; her level of physical ability and fitness, unprecedented in his experience, but more than that: that she was willing to throw her entire life away for…

"You're my test run for this idea, you know that right?" she said, taking a long overdue drink and interrupting yet another internal monologue.

"And since we couldn't possibly trust the results from only one trial I suppose I'm obliged to monitor your progress too. If I hear another 'sir' then I'll have to assume you've failed," Edward pointed out, deliberately making it sound as if even that was a concession.

"Is that your scientific opinion?"

"After a decade in university I expect you can rely on my scientific opinions. I wouldn't tell you how to bomb a fuel depot, would I?"

Regina scowled at that, but fortunately didn't bother commenting. Too soon, he wondered? "It's hard to imagine you at a university. Weird, huh? Was it here?" she asked, waving at the city below them.

He snorted in derision at the suggestion. "Merestan's a military city. Good for soldiers, not so nice for intellectuals. I started in the capital. Could even see the central command centre in all its monstrous glory from my window. Did you know western command is only the second largest fortress in the country? You do now."

"Really? How could I have possibly known that? It's not like I was based out of central for an entire year," she replied, adopting a mocking tone he knew he'd earned. Her amusement softened, however, as she looked down at the aforementioned command centre. From their position he could see an artillery battery facing the sea.

"I studied in Borginia too, you know. Two years after they first let me call myself Doctor. Borginian technology is a few years ahead of ours in just about every respect, so there was little reason to stay here." He didn't know why he was telling her any of this. He'd never known anyone well enough to tell even that much.

"But you came back. Why?"

He grimaced at the memory. "Because an ambitious lieutenant colonel was so fascinated by my work that he offered me endless military funding to develop it into a prototype. Not a lot of scientists who go to Borginia ever want to come back, you have to understand. Still, it seems he's found a way to make this work without me. Or perhaps that's only what he wants me to think. Sometimes I wonder whether Harper knows it too and that's why he's doing this."

"You're speaking in riddles again, Kirk. Knows what? How much you like being vague?"

"Our government is vile and corrupt, yes? Nobody seems inclined to disagree on that point. Anton Royce comes along promising revolution and reform, climbing through the ranks in half the time it usually takes. He's calm and charismatic and understands people and refuses to torture and murder his enemies. Publicly he likes to argue with his superiors and fight for internal reform and the public finally have someone in the military who fights for them."

"And you don't approve of that?" Her tone indicated interest without judgement; this was good, the only way he could continue without anger.

"There are things I saw in Borginia. Things you can't learn here that they showed me before I left to come back here. Think of it as a warning, my colleagues said. After enough images of executions and torture and mass graves in the snow I forced them to make their point, and they did." He exhaled, rubbing his tired eyes. "They were scenes from the subjugation of the Alvernian northern border."

"But that's exactly what he says he's fighting for. A world where that doesn't have to happen." Her lack of surprise was telling.

He continued in a dry monotone, regretting opening his mouth to begin with but recognising that it had to be said. "All I'm saying is, for people like you and Royce this is an ideological question. But I remember what they showed me, and there was no ideology there. The atrocities repeated themselves over and over," he said, unable to stop until he understood, "and they just kept going until there was nothing left. It was almost…"

Regina put her hand on his shoulder. So she did understand. "Systematic?" she asked quietly. "Is that how you'd describe it?"

"It's exactly how I'd describe it. But how did you…?"

"Harper said he was there. That they experimented on the population while suppressing them. He said it as if it meant something to him. Sometimes I think he's got half the answers and just won't tell us, but I don't know what to do about it."

Of course. A solution was beginning to take form at last. "Then if I had to guess I'd say he's not quite the sociopath he appears, wouldn't you agree?" It was a rhetorical question. "And if that's the case then we must assume someone in Royce's faction is to blame for an offense heinous enough for him and his followers to have risked themselves to save us. That suits me perfectly: if he wants Royce dead I won't be standing in his way."

"Are you really still holding a grudge because he stopped funding your project? You know he refused to torture you even though Anders told him to?"

"I'm holding a grudge because he's a hypocrite. Can't do his own dirty work so he convinces everyone else to do it for him and tells himself he's so much better than the rest of us. If he didn't think you could've persuaded me he'd have turned me over to her before long and still found a way to absolve himself of any blame." It was difficult to find the right words to express his distaste for the man.

Regina remained silent, a troubled air exposing her controlled expression for the lie it was. Neither of them spoke again for the better part of an hour, too busy with their own thoughts.

"I don't know what to tell you. I don't even know what to tell myself," she eventually said, poking languidly at the ground with a stick.

"You don't need to tell me anything." He hesitated, again unsure of her intentions. "But I need to tell you something."

Well, it was too late to pretend he hadn't said it. She'd turned around fully with a very expectant look on her face.

"I'll just come out and say it, shall I? I won't be able to modify the Stabilizer here. I'm not convinced it can be done without producing a new model, and that can't be done outside Borginia. The generator we have is just an older version of the one on the island, so that's not really a problem."

The confusion in her eyes was almost endearing. "So why didn't you ever say it? If Harper's not dead I don't know what he'll do if you tell him that."

"You're missing the point. If the Stabilizer doesn't work the generator still produces energy, just at an ever increasing rate the hardware can't tolerate; this results in a violent overload. It works… just not for long. I didn't want anyone to know just how miserable a failure I turned out to be."

He knew she'd understand. She wasn't stupid. And so she did. "You're saying we can still use it as a weapon, but not an energy generator?"

And Kirk laughed, having been faced with that exact problem for far too long. "It's hilarious, isn't it? I set out to create a solution to our ever increasing need for energy and all I've created is another weapon. I accidentally created the thing they want most. But that's enough for them, I suspect, so they really don't need me at all. All that time in the cells and it was already working well enough to do what they wanted. It kept me going, you know, knowing I'd beaten them like that."

"But that doesn't make any sense. You didn't tell Borginia their weapon was ready?"

"Obviously not. I wanted it to work properly or not at all. And I'm not saying it'll work perfectly, but if you want something to explode... Still, if I had to make a prediction I'd say I don't have that luxury now. So there's a decision to make, clearly, and I'm not really sure what to do about it."

It was an interesting look, the one she was giving him. Exasperation mixed with frustration and the slightest hint of panic. Perhaps something else, too. It had to be progress of a sort, recognising such a mix of emotions which were quickly replaced by even more emotions right before his eyes.

"You idiot. You complete idiot, do you know what you've done?" Regina said, losing her composure for the first time. "If they know, or even if they _don't_ know…"

He stood up, realising something else. "You left Mirzin alone?"

She nodded, eyes wide with… well, something.

"That's not good. Harper never left him alone for good reason. If he goes up to the surface and contacts Royce and tells him… you get the point."

'Alright, I admit it. We've both fucked this up," Regina said, clearly struggling to remain still. She reached into the backpack and pulled out a cheap phone, something Kosirim left them before leaving with a promise to contact them before their return. A promise he potentially hadn't kept.

"Isn't that a risk for them," Edward pointed out, imagining any number of scenarios in which grey-clad operatives were captured after an unfortunately timed call. Was that how it worked? He certainly wasn't going to ask.

"They were supposed to be back yesterday. If he's dead we're trashing your generator, Kirk," she said with tapping at the screen. Long, quite delicate fingers, he noted, again feeling out of his depth. It was hot enough that he was perspiring simply from exposure to the sun and looked to be getting no cooler as the day progressed.

She threw the phone down with a look of disgust. "Kosirim's not answering, and that guy doesn't strike me as the type to ignore his obligations. So now what?"

"We go back."

He could think of a great many reasons to protest that answer, and yet she simply nodded and stood up. Nothing more was said until they approached the base of the mountain. Hiking was an easier task on the way down, fortunately, aside from that one incident in which he nearly fell down a particularly steep slope. The ease with which she pulled him back up was genuinely impressive, but he was far too embarrassed by his own shoddy climbing skills to mention that.

She tried calling again while walking, he noticed, receiving the same answer. Before long they were on the outskirts of the city itself, where the buildings gave way to the mountainous terrain in the north. It would be an hour of walking at least before they reached the base, he knew.

It felt strange to have spent so many hours in the sun. He couldn't think of a way to communicate this without sounding pathetic, so he didn't, but it was a rare luxury for someone who lived and worked underground. It seemed as if only a few others were enjoying the opportunity; the streets were mostly empty and several of the people they'd passed were armed.

"Alley on the left, make it look casual," Regina murmured, ruining yet another thought session. Focusing back on reality he saw why: three uniformed soldiers were patrolling a major intersection ahead of them. The alley could, of course, be a dead end, but she'd accounted for that.

"Something's changed. Stay behind me until we're back, I'll make sure it's—"Regina began issuing orders which he saw no reason not to follow, but was interrupted by the buzzing vibrations of the phone she'd been carrying in her side pocket.

She stared at it for a moment, puzzled, before hesitantly answering. Most of the conversation was one-sided, leaving little for his mind to play with, but she did write something on a slip of paper before ending the call.

"Well, what happened?"

She shook her head. "Bad news. They had to fight their way out of there. Half of them are dead; I spoke to that woman he took with him, the one with the half-foreign accent. They're trapped between two warehouses in the north-western port," she said, holding up the piece of paper.

Caution, concern, none of it mattered. "But did they succeed despite that?"

"She said they got both devices but Kesler's men have been told to search the coast for them. Looks like I'm going to have to save him this time, and our little alliance with her is probably over."

He glanced back at the entrance to the alley, but the streets remained as quiet as ever. "Think before you act this time. If it's a lie you're probably going to be killed."

"What choice do we have? If it's true I'll get them out of there, or at least get the devices. If they go down how long do you think we've got?"

"And if it's a lie?"

"Then I'll fight my way out, or maybe I'll get a bullet to the back of the head." She pressed the phone into his hand. "Could you disable the generator without anyone knowing?"

He couldn't help but admire her audacity, foolish as it likely was. "I could remove a key component without much difficulty."

"Do that. Take it with you and find somewhere to hide out. If I don't call that phone in the next two days you're on your own. And if it helps, you're much less of an ass once you're away from your work. Just thought you ought to know that."

She pulled her coat back on and turned to leave with little more than a short nod in farewell. But that couldn't be it. Nobody had ever treated him in this manner in his entire life. Not domineering, not subservient. She genuinely expected he would do what he said he would in return for her own willingness to do the same. When was the last time anyone had approached him for anything other than their own gain?

Finally decided, Kirk looked up with the right response in mind. She was gone, of course.

The solitary walk through the streets was unnerving in more ways than one. Reinforcements from western command were gradually appearing; once he heard three or four people trading shots in a street far too close to his. As he went deeper into the western sector the quality of the housing dropped drastically. It was only when the air began to taste faintly of salt and the streets grew entirely deserted that he knew he was near the alley concealing the entrance to the underground facility.

Still, he wasn't Regina and he wasn't going to pretend he had those skills. Neither was he reckless or foolhardy. Whatever had happened on Ibis Island, he was sure they'd only heard a small piece of the truth, if that. Harper was a habitual liar and the people he was fighting were even worse.

And so instead of turning down the alley he approached an abandoned apartment complex closer to the beach. The dusty halls provided a convenient place to watch and wait unseen, a comforting notion considering the deep sense of dread that filled him at the idea of returning to the complex alone. Once he descended the ladder there would be only one way out and he had a deep suspicion it would lead to a cell. From there he could observe. At a distance, yes, but still barely within sight of the entrance.

Peering out from behind a moth-eaten curtain he could see the entrance to the alley. A lone man stood in the alley. Mirzin. That was either a very good or a very bad sign, and Edward Kirk was not a man to gamble his life on such chances. On the other hand, his choices were rather grim: approach or wait. How were you supposed to judge a situation like this?

If he approached and Mirzin knew he'd be trapped; even if he only could use one arm that would be enough to hold a pistol. If he didn't know it would be impossible to explain their absence without an elaborate lie, but how could he confirm which pieces of information the man knew when he didn't know if he'd been any further than—he deliberately cut that line of thought short and watched for some time in complete silence.

Exhaustion was setting in. Several hours of walking and hiking combined with a high level of stress and thought, not to mention his fit of misery in the morning, were bad signs. He turned around and collapsed against the peeling wallpaper, running his hands through his hair out of sheer frustration. And when he looked up he knew the decision had been taken from him once more.

Through the gloom he saw a figure at the doorway. And yet it wasn't the short, lean man he'd seen outside but a tall woman in filthy, near ruined clothes. She lacked Regina's muscle tone and her left arm was wrapped in heavily stained cloth cut from her right sleeve. Her brown eyes widened at the sight of him, and yet she'd clearly followed him in. His own response was quite similar, though he resisted the urge to run away for long enough to take a closer look.

"He said you would come back and you did," she whispered, likely to herself, and then he saw the grey past the filth coating her jacket. Her thick brown hair was unusually long for a soldier, though it seemed caked in blood toward the top of her skull.

"You're one of Harper's people," Kirk exclaimed, realising with some alarm that she looked as if she'd been savagely beaten.

She nodded, a faint smile appearing on her face for less than a second, and approached him cautiously. "We made it back, and we brought you those parts." She looked at the window and bit her lip. "But he said we can't go back yet. What's happened?"

Kirk realised his hands were shaking. This couldn't be happening. How could it be happening? If she was here, if she was talking to him, if she'd just said what she said, asked him…

He seized the collar of her jacket and pulled her toward him, eliciting a hiss of pain when he brushed her left arm. "You can't be here," he whispered. "You told us to come and rescue you at a warehouse, so how can you be here?" She attempted to pull away but he didn't care and tightened his grip. Had she betrayed them? Was she only keeping him occupied while the troops positioned themselves? If she had he'd snap her neck before she had the chance, one final act of rebellion. "_Well, didn't you_? _Tell me what you've done_," he said, struggling not to shout, until someone from behind kicked him in the back of the knee and he fell to the floor bringing her with him. He scrambled for leverage but his attacker slammed a boot into his ribs with a crack and dragged him to the side of the room.

"So this is how you repay us? If you ever touch her again it'll be the last thing you do, Kirk." The man's words were filled with spite.

He rolled onto his back, wheezing heavily, and saw yet another sight he couldn't begin to evaluate. No Alvernian soldiers, but Harper was watching him from above. The man's usual smile, fake though it was, had vanished, replaced by a blank stare. His eyes gleamed with a feverish energy.

Kirk pulled himself up against the wall, but the woman he'd assaulted was standing behind Harper, one hand clenching the back of his shirt. He looked at his own hands, and then at them, and it was impossible to ignore. He was the villain in this scene and they all knew it. He pulled himself to his feet with a scowl of disgust. For himself, for them, for the entire world.

He pulled the phone from his pocket and slammed it on a flimsy wooden table by the window.

"She'll be dead by now."

"Dead? Regina? Was she captured?" Harper asked, switching from indignation to inquisitiveness within a second.

"By someone posing as _her_," Kirk said, gesturing wildly at the silhouette hiding behind Harper. It was strange, he couldn't help but realise. Harper's group had all seemed experienced soldiers and she was hiding from him like a frightened child?

And for the second time he was surprised. Instead of triumph, or pleasure, or entertainment, or even confusion, their faces were consumed by a look of dread. The injured woman looked to be trying not to shake and Harper's closed fist was twitching.

"And you actually care?" he asked, on edge as if he expected it were an elaborate joke.

"Are you too stupid to understand this? She knows _everything_. Aren't you the one who so bluntly told her she'd be beaten or raped or whatever you military scum do to imprisoned women?" If it was difficult to tolerate his feigned ignorance when they'd met it was all but impossible now.

The injured woman spun around and hurriedly left the room. Harper watched her leave with a regretful stare before looking back. "I'm beginning to regret this." He sank down against the wall and ran a hand through his filthy hair. "Just explain it, alright? It's been a rough week."

So he did. Every step they'd taken and every mistake they'd made, right down to her stubbornly insisting on going alone. It felt like progress of a sort and that was what he needed to feel. Anything other than useless.

When he was finished he looked down at the man, expecting the usual bold strategies and risk-filled plans these people employed. Instead he saw a weary man resting his head against a rotting wall, his grey eyes staring back almost as if admitting defeat.

"I don't know what to tell you, Kirk," he finally said. "But Kosirim's dead. Executed when we were captured, lucky bastard. They must have picked up his phone then."

"So it is a trap, clearly. She's the bait? But for who?" Kirk said, trying to picture who would've come up with such a plan.

"They probably wanted to capture you, not her." Harper stood up with a groan, looked out the door into the hall and nodded. "Now's fine, Jane," he called out in a stifled half-shout. The need to be quiet was clear to all of them, at least.

"I'm going to be honest. We waited here for either of you to show up after we saw Royce's man waiting outside that manhole. Might've been better to kill him, but it's too late for that. Barely made it off that fucking island to begin with."

The brown-haired woman, Jane, returned with a thick black case held in her right hand and delicately set it on the table next to Kosirim's phone. Edward stared blankly from the moment she reappeared. After all this time he'd never actually expected to see his most proud achievement again. Even unfinished the Stabilizer was a veritable masterpiece of engineering, combining the absolute peak in Alvernian and Borginian technology to produce a miraculous device no larger than his forearm. The methods used in its construction were one of a kind, developed especially for the project over many painstakingly long years of research.

His hands brushed over the tarnished leather and the metal clasp, all other thoughts rendered utterly irrelevant in light of what had finally been brought back to him. "I cannot express my gratitude enough for this," he murmured, reaching for the clasp with a trembling hand.

But his moment of triumph was ruined by the sound of vibrating plastic and he realised with a sinking feeling in his chest that any triumph he'd felt was wholly imaginary.

Could it be her? Had she escaped? Or was it someone else entirely? For a brief moment he considered running. Taking the devices, asking Harper to join him, and leaving to start over. To think such a thing a mere two hundred metres from his own generator because a crippled man stood in his path and he wanted to abandon someone who'd done far more to save his own life was pathetic, he knew without even having to ask.

Reluctantly he moved his hand from the case and picked up the phone, answering without a word.

"Kirk, are you there?" So Regina was still alive, at least.

"Yes."

"I need to tell you something." She paused for far too long. "Get out of the city while you—"The call was disconnected. Not quite what he'd hoped for when she answered.

"They got her, didn't they?" Harper asked from the floor. Jane was sitting next to him, her eyes fixed on the phone, one hand on her injured arm. There was something they weren't telling him, no doubt. He told them anyway. It wasn't as if he had any other allies.

The phone rang again and he didn't hesitate to answer. This time someone else was on the other end.

"Hello, Edward," a female voice said, much calmer than Regina had been. "It'll be interesting to deal with someone like you. Do try not to be boring, would you? I have something of yours and you have something of mine. How would a rational man deal with this problem?"

His heart nearly froze in his chest. Something of hers? His work was not the property of this mindless scum, whoever she thought she was. And what possible reason did she have to think he'd care even if she executed Regina on the spot?

"You're mistaken. You have nothing of mine and I have nothing of yours." If he revealed he had the devices or that he wasn't alone he'd have revealed two important pieces of information far too early. He was no stranger to strategy, and even that was worth hiding as long as he could.

"If you lie to me again I'll cut off one of her fingers. The right index finger would be appropriate, given her line of work. The next lie after that and she loses a hand. Tell me again: are you sure you have nothing I might want?" He hadn't for even a moment expected her to test his claim so violently.

He looked down at Harper. His face was twisted into an uncharacteristic grimace and Kirk realised it was in response to his own disturbed expression. If he lied she would do it, no doubt. And then what would he have gained? Nothing.

"The Stabilizer is mine. You can't use it anyway, not until my work is finished."

"Do you think I care about your toys? We've got another set, and they're useless anyway. No. The man who delivered it to you: I want you to give him to me in return for your precious woman, who a good friend assures me you've come to value. Not just him, but a woman who should be with him. The rest of his group, there may be two or three more, would be appreciated, but they're less important. Do this and I'll let you continue your research and return the prisoner without any missing parts. Unless he's mistaken, in which case I'll just kill her now and you're free to go. Is that how we'll do it?"

Good friend? Who could she possibly—no he knew: Mirzin had used the first opportunity to betray them, and that meant he'd been just as aware of their independence as Kirk himself had been. Had he simply been playing the fool? His thoughts were beginning to race.

"And if I don't?"

"You see? You do care. I'll start by destroying your experimental generators. Yes, both of them. As for this woman, I'll take away every last thing you ever admired or found attractive about her and send you the leftovers. Interpret that however you like. You're the rational one, they tell me, so the question is: are you willing to pay that price just for Harper and his slut? They've been dead for years, I assure you. You can even think of it as merciful."

How was he supposed to respond to that? Nobody in his life had ever expressed so much vitriol in such a calm tone, almost as if she were asking him whether he'd be willing to come to lunch, not whether he'd mind if she… if she what?

"No answer? Do you need more time? I understand. I'll send you some visual motivation as soon as I can. If you'd like to come find us we're at the same warehouse. We'll only be there for a few more days, but I'm sure you'd like to conclude our transaction before then." She disconnected the call without even waiting for a response and he resisted the urge to snap the thing in half.

"Well, who is it and what do they want? Your devices don't even work properly, so what's the big issue?" Harper asked.

"It was… I'm not sure. A woman. She indicated Mirzin betrayed us, so I'm inclined to think Royce's faction." He paused, slightly shaken. "I've rarely encountered someone so sure of themselves, let alone so aggressive."

Harper stood up. "What did she want?" His voice was different. The usual sardonic quips had disappeared entirely.

He had to consider that carefully. If he lied he could hand them over. Hand them over and then what? They'd never just let the two of them leave. He'd end up in the cell next to Regina's, and he'd prefer a quick death to more imprisonment.

"A trade. Regina for the two of you." he finally said. The two men watched each other carefully, as if both expected the other to make a sudden move.

"We need to run. All it takes is one mistake and we're well past that. Our only chance and we blew it by not cutting that bastard's throat." Was that a hint of panic? From _him_?

"How pathetic. You just broke into a fortress with an entire army right above you and now a few mercenaries in a warehouse is too much? How hard can it be? What's your real excuse this time, Harper?"

Harper's fist hit him in the side of the face and he flew back, the table's sharp corner cutting into his ribs.

"You're not half as rational as you like to think you are. Every last thing I've seen you do is emotional." To Kirk's surprise he held his hand out and pulled the younger man onto his feet. "I'm not saying I don't want to help: I'm saying I _can't_."

He spat out a mouthful of blood and wiped his face. "Tell me why not."

"Because she's already accounted for every decision that you'd make in this situation. Because we had a plan and allies, and now it's all ruined," a quiet voice said from the wall. They both looked in surprise, and Kirk treated it as confirmation that they really were hiding information. Jane, did he say her name was? The man had taken great care to keep his team away from the three of them living underground.

Harper sighed. "I didn't want to think it but she's right. If you make the trade she'll capture you too. If you don't she's not going to kill Regina, but she'll make her wish she was dead. She also wants you to try and retake the generator and threaten her. If you run you'll probably be dead within a week anyway. No matter how you approach this she wins and you lose."

"Who exactly is this strategist?"

"You haven't guessed? You're dealing with Royce's second in command. That's her official position, but she's planned his strategies for this entire campaign. Royce is the politician, you realise, and he doesn't have the stomach for what she likes to do alone. Don't ask, don't tell—that's their policy. Trust me just this once: this is how she operates."

He remembered a woman who followed the Colonel relentlessly. Cold features and colder eyes, long blonde hair and a reputation for efficiency through unconventional methods. Those were the euphemisms used to hide her brutality, they all knew, but they'd rarely spoken. "Anders was the name? Eliza Anders? A lieutenant colonel?'

They both nodded. "I tried to kill her on Ibis Island. I… something stopped me before I could, and now she knows all three of us have deserted. If she didn't know before, which I wouldn't put past her."

"But why does she care? That's a trivial concern for the second in command of his whole miserable rebellion to handle personally."

"I've been through this before. She's here for something else, probably to clear the way for Royce to come in and 'restore order'. This is just a game to her, and she doesn't play games unless she knows she'll win."

"You're saying I've lost without making a single move?" Even the idea of such a humiliating defeat was too much.

"If you want to put it bluntly, yes."

"No."

"No?"

"I'm not losing to them again. Twice was humiliating enough, but three times? Both of you," Kirk said, feeling a burst of eagerness for the first time in months. "She has us on the defensive, but that's little more than an illusion. This city is officially under the jurisdiction of Major General Hereson, and in the military's eyes Anders is little more than an especially dangerous extremist. She's just as isolated as we are until they invade."

This was how it should happen. A stream of thoughts, one conclusion leading to the next, nothing but certainty and accuracy. So they'd taken the refuge of his work from him the very moment he had the tools to continue, even taken the person he'd grown to rely on for direction. That only gave him more reason to despise them all.

"If you join me we can beat them. How long has it been since any of them saw their plans torn down and ruined the way we have? Our lives have been defined by their decisions, reward and punishment passed out as if they had any right to judge us. This is the last chance we'll have: we can move while they're weak and destroy them all." He had to convince them. Both of them. He'd done it before and he could do it again, and what was left to any of them except revenge?

Harper put a hand on his friend's shoulder and looked into her eyes. In hindsight it was obvious, perhaps, but it was only then that Edward realised that the near-sociopathic man and the distant, professional woman who'd left for Ibis Island had both been broken. What else could he call it? Something had changed and they weren't telling him. When had he ever acted this way with anyone?

"We don't have to do this," Harper said, but she shook her head.

"If we don't do this what do we do? Run forever? She'd find us, you know she would," Jane said, almost whispering. "But I want you to promise me something." And for this she looked at Kirk too. "If I'm captured just kill me. I won't go back there again. Until then, maybe we can try and stop them."

And Harper grimaced, but he also nodded his agreement. "I will, and I need you to do the same for me if the time comes." They both turned back to face him. That they felt the need to make that promise didn't say much for Regina's chances.

"If you can come up with a feasible plan we'll do what we can. But I realise how much you need us right now. Once this is done you're going to help us crush their rebellion and the military too. Does that sound a fair price to you, Edward?"

Hearing him say that how could he help smile? "I think I can accommodate that desire. I may even share it. First we'll have to force Anders into the open and take back the generator, and that's certainly not an impossible task. She won't kill her only hostage so easily."

"Then we'll do it your way this time. What's our next move?" Harper said, smiling faintly.

Standing there in that grim, dusty apartment it was difficult to be optimistic. How could he hope to outmanoeuvre someone so experienced and dangerous with so few resources? The slightest mistake and she would die, no doubt; why did the prospect of that outcome seem so intolerable?

It was an opportunity, at the very least. For the first time one of his enemies had abandoned the protection of their armies and even dared to challenge him directly. He was such a prodigy, they'd always said, able to learn and adapt and anticipate well beyond the limits of others. What better opportunity to put those skills to the test than facing off against someone directly responsible for so much misery?


	16. Chapter 16

_Note: Warning for explicit content._

Gail always told them before every last assignment: this could be the one where you don't come back, and you need to make peace with that. Regina had accepted that without difficulty, or so she'd thought. What difference did it make, really, if one day she was too slow or too stupid and died because of it? She'd be beyond knowing and the military could easily replace her without difficulty. She had no real friends, no family to mourn her. That was how they liked their soldiers.

This was entirely different. She'd suspected a trap. Wondered if Harper was going to dispose of her so he could manipulate Kirk as he liked. The reality was far different. The ruined, filthy warehouse only had been empty and silent; it was only after entering that a man in a bloodstained grey jacket revealed his presence. It was nothing more than a diversion to buy them a brief few seconds and it worked. Four soldiers ambushed her, one from each side. Their Alvernian uniforms were enough to fool her at first. It wasn't even necessary, just a hint of theatrical flair to add a small touch of confusion to her reaction.

Still, Hereson's men wouldn't have had access to Kosirim's phone, and they wouldn't have thrown her in a disused meat freezer. There was nothing official about them beyond their tactics and uniforms. One of them had returned briefly and allowed her to speak to Edward Kirk through the same phone for ten brief seconds. No demands, no questions, just imprisonment and one brief call. If he had any sense he'd have fled the moment that call was finished.

Her surroundings were grim, to put it mildly. The inside of the freezer was covered in a thick layer of rust and smelled of mildew and rotting flesh, but they'd left only a small lamp in the corner to illuminate the entire chamber. The warehouse was ancient and likely hadn't been used for some years, or so she thought. Even the district outside was mostly derelict, yet another casualty of the city's economic collapse a decade before.

They'd left her alone for some hours. Or so it seemed, though it could easily have been far longer. By the time the door finally opened with a slow grind she guessed it'd been the better part of eight hours, and the dull moonlight shining through the grimy warehouse windows supported that theory.

The man who'd previously been wearing a grey jacket lightly stepped inside, leaving the door unclosed and himself exposed. There was a pistol holstered on his hip; otherwise he was unarmed. Thick muscles strained against his shirt and his height would've put even the tallest men she'd known to shame. There was something disturbingly familiar about his face, even the way it crinkled in disgust at the foul smell.

"Funny how life works out, isn't it?" he said, his tone relaxed and polite.

"I'm inclined to think the opposite," she replied in a similar manner, pushing herself back again the iron wall. This didn't look promising.

"So am I, truth be told. I suppose you can be forgiven for forgetting me, but I didn't forget you."

Now he was smiling ever so slightly and she knew whatever he intended wasn't going to be pleasant. If this was just some personal revenge fantasy than how did he get the men and resources to pull off that kind of ambush?

He sighed, gesturing with one arm for her to speed up. "We met after a night of drinks, remember? Me and my buddy got kicked out of a pub and thought we'd teach you officers not to walk around like you owned the place, only you weren't the quiet little office worker you pretended you were."

Oh. Well, these things had to be expected when you killed people for a living. The filthy surroundings and the way the harsh light illuminated his smirking face weren't helping, and she could feel her heart rate rising. Theoretical acceptance or not, the reality of death was far different when it was smirking at you in a meat freezer.

"How did you get out of prison? Usually they execute militia members without trial." Keep him talking as long as possible, she thought. Even delaying the inevitable was better than accepting it.

He almost seemed willing to play along. "You haven't guessed?"

Regina shook her head. She knew how helpless she looked and hated it. How could she overpower someone like that? Even if she did, there were at least three more. But she couldn't just submit to them, and there were no obvious ways to kill herself either if that's what was necessary.

He laughed and took a slow step forward. "I'm not going to tell you. Might ruin things, you see?" Another step. Only a few more steps and he'd be above her.

What point was there in delaying it? She refused to die without dignity, regardless of what he was planning. "Cut the small talk, I'm not interested anyway. Just do what you're here to do."

His smirk shifted into a full grin. "Impressive. No begging at all? She said you wouldn't. Good thing we didn't bet on it, but there's still time to change that." She didn't ask. He wanted her to ask, so she wouldn't. Fuck him and fuck her, whoever she was.

Another step closer. She risked standing up, testing her muscles while doing so. Everything seemed to be in working order. Her entire body had tensed up, anticipating an assault at any moment.

Her captor stopped half a metre before her, and she was forced to look up to see his face. He smelled faintly of sweat and cheap cologne. Why would he get so close knowing what she could do unless it was just another trap? Only one way to find out.

He grabbed Regina's arm in one hand and pulled her toward him, but she used her free hand to seize the pistol at his hip and bury it in his heavily muscled chest. "Should've just killed me, idiot," she whispered in his ear. "Now we're going to leave, and if you do this properly I won't have to shoot you."

"Oh, this is embarrassing isn't it? It's our night on the town all over again, huh?" he whispered, dropping her arm without argument. He was still grinning.

They slipped out the door of the freezer. The warehouse was all but empty, only occupied by the odd cargo container. "See, I had you all to myself and look what you've done. I'm telling you: you shouldn't think so poorly of me." It was extraordinarily difficult not to shoot him in the abdomen and leave him to bleed out on the spot. Worse, a deep sense of foreboding had only grown stronger since taking him captive.

She turned him around on the spot and stood with the pistol aimed at his head. "Tell me what you're doing. You're an awful actor, you know that? So just drop it and _tell me_," she said, barely containing a shout. Foreboding turned into genuine fear.

He raised his hands overhead and shrugged, still grinning. The look in his eyes was another lie. Not the licentious beast at all but a seasoned predator looking down on his prey. And then she saw it. Behind him leaning again a cargo container. Another woman, this one wearing a black outfit that could easily substitute for a military uniform. But that didn't make any sense if he was...

She detached herself from the container and stepped forward. A light frame, long blonde hair, not particularly tall. Why would someone of that description be here? Her mind was racing, jumping from one conclusion to the next knowing all of them were wrong.

"Stay back or I'll kill you both," she said, all but shouting. It was difficult to stand still; harder to know what to do to escape from the game they were so obviously playing. And then the woman moved into the moonlight and Regina had to step back in shock. So Harper had failed. If she was here, they must all be dead.

"Hello, Lieutenant," Eliza Anders said, head turned to one side. The slightest hint of a grin was growing as she surveyed the situation. "But what's this? You're holding a good friend of mine hostage and he's done nothing to deserve it." Her expression hardened. "You, on the other hand, do deserve what's happening to you."

It was too much. If they'd simply tortured her, if he'd stormed in and beaten her to unconsciousness, even raped her as Harper told her they would, it couldn't have compared to this. The anticipation, knowing she held the pistol and knowing they were in total control and that every move she could make had been predicted. The more she fought the worse it would be, was that it?

She took another step back. "Just stay away. I haven't done anything to hurt you or Royce. Take one step closer and he's dead, you understand? And so are you."

Anders did grin this time. "I wouldn't be so hasty. We captured the blonde one too. Edward Kirk the errant researcher. If you pull the trigger we'll have to punish him. You've caused so much trouble in the space of a month, you know. It's fortunate for me that I had to be in Merestan anyway, or I'd have missed this opportunity."

It was a lie. She knew it had to be a lie. Kirk wasn't stupid enough to be captured, not like that. He'd have understood when she told him to run. Surely he trusted her enough to do that. Then she'd have to trust in his abilities too. She raised the pistol and pulled the trigger.

And a soft click sealed her fate. Her intended target stepped forward and seized the pistol, smashing her jaw with its handle and filling her mouth with the metallic taste of blood. His heavy boot landed in her stomach and she fell to the floor. Another substantial blow from above and she collapsed entirely, coughing heavily, her back searing with pain.

A sardonic clap returned her attention to the woman standing above her. "You guessed right. We didn't capture Kirk. Points deducted for not guessing the pistol was unloaded. Kosra is too important to risk playing with you. I have to thank you for capturing him."

_Kosra? _Regina tried to look up and failed, but Anders guessed her intent. "Yes, that Kosra. He wasn't always the militia leader, of course, but the old Kosra fell on a knife. This one is very sympathetic to our cause."

"Why are you doing this? What have I done to make you think this is necessary?" Regina asked, voice hoarse and punctuated by fits of coughing. She pulled herself up into a sitting position and looked at them.

"Nothing."

That wasn't possible. "What? I didn't…"

"Nothing," Anders repeated, staring blankly at her captive. "You're just bait for the real target. I know you've done some frustrating things, but you're really not why I'm here. Sorry to disappoint."

"Kirk?"

"Anton would be grateful if I brought back that creature," Anders said, a thoughtful expression overtaking her. "But no, not him. You know he's quite likely to try and rescue you? I'd say there's a one in three chance he'll make an attempt. I tried to maximise that chance during our talk, so you really ought to thank me."

Kosra stepped back and retrieved the pistol, offering it to her, even showing deference as he did so.

"I don't like guns very much," Anders said as she examined and loaded the pistol. "Too crude. And unreliable. My aim's not the best either. You can offset that by having someone else use the gun for you, which is one way to describe all your accomplishments, Lieutenant Regina."

She looked up at Kosra. "Could you pick her up? I promised Edward visual motivation, and after what I said I'd do if he lied to me I suppose I'd better not lie to him. That would give him the wrong impression."

Regina felt herself being pulled up, his rough hands wrapping themselves around her midsection. All the things she wanted to ask retreated to the back of her mind. She'd known Anders was a brilliant if ruthless strategist well before they'd met. This was entirely different, like the cold efficient commander she'd met had only been a visage she'd chosen to wear for the right occasions.

Kosra forced her to sit on a wooden chair with a surprising amount of delicacy before tying her hands and legs together.

"It's Harper you want, isn't it? Not me, not Kirk, just him?" Regina said, eyes widening with dread when Anders retrieved a filthy cloth bag from the wall.

She slowly nodded. "He's a problem. And he's made the two of you into problems. I was so sure he'd changed. Was he only pretending? I suppose you wouldn't know either."

"If you think he'd ever risk himself to save anyone, I don't think we met the same Harper."

"You're supposed to be the dangerous one, not the stupid one. Do you think he had to save you from being arrested? Of course Gail was going to arrange a pardon once you'd been taken in, but I don't think he knew that. And he saved Kirk from assassination. Well, I suppose he _was_ the one who told Pretsin where to find him in the first place. He's a copy of me, in many ways, and I simply can't teach something I don't know."

Was that another lie? How could it be, she and Kirk had both realised Harper had kept them separate from Royce ever since his arrival. That entire day was staged? Gail _had_ tried to help her after all? She hadn't ever believed he'd lift a finger for her sake.

"I should really thank you. If you hadn't helped him with that plan I'd probably be dead. He beat me, you know. Captured me under Ibis Island," Anders said, her tone soft and thoughtful. She pulled a long knife from the bag and ran her finger across it. "But Gail, idiot that he is, has been looking after Pretsin's orphaned daughter. Right before he would've killed me Harper saw her and had a sentimental fit, so I stuck a piece of sheet metal into his spine."

She looked down at her captive. "More than that, when I killed that shadow of his, Kosirim, he was genuinely distressed. And when I pointed the gun at his only friend, laying there covered in blood and crawling along the floor, I knew he still cared. He really was hiding it for all those years. You're probably the first person he's helped in a long time, you know."

Anders ran the knife lightly across the exposed skin on her arm and leaned in. "And that's why he's not going to leave you with me," she whispered in Regina's ear. More pressure. She felt a sharp sting and gasped. A shallow cut from her elbow to her wrist left a distinctive red line welling with blood.

Something was wrong. That thought overtook all others. This was not a standard military procedure. "Does Royce know you're doing this?"

That question seemed to interest her. "I plan his campaigns and I do the most distasteful work myself. He must know, I think, but he pretends it's not happening. As I said, I'm not actually here just to clean up after you and your new friends. We can't declare open rebellion until the establishment is portrayed as so irredeemably awful that nobody questions our intentions, not if we want to give the right impression."

"But Hereson's troops are pulling back to avoid conflict with civilians," Regina pointed out, hoping to delay her.

It didn't work. Another line, this one deeper, around her left bicep. She clenched her teeth to avoid voicing her pain, but the blood was already steadily dripping down her arm onto the concrete below.

Anders nodded her agreement. "Yes, you're right. That's Gail's idea, no doubt. I really ought to have disposed of him when I had the chance, but that would've looked undiplomatic. Don't worry. Nobody said the atrocity had to be committed by them, after all, only blamed on them. You're new to this, aren't you?"

Another slash to her forearm, this one much deeper than the last. Regina barely restrained herself from screaming when she pressed the knife into the muscle under the skin and twisted. And then another cut, another that ripped a chunk of skin off entirely; another gash on the underside of her upper arm and she couldn't hold it back any longer.

Finally, after what felt like days, Anders stood back and lowered the blade. The chair and the floor under it were soaked in blood, but the cuts were limited to Regina's left arm only, beginning at the wrist and ending at the shoulder.

"I do apologise for this. There's no other way to be sure they'll come, you see. This is your fault for running away with men you don't know." She looked at the tall man to her side and threw something from the bag at him. "Could you take a photograph, please? I promised Edward I'd send one." He knelt down and took the photograph, as requested. She tried not to show how much pain she was feeling and failed. Her arm, crimson and slippery, burned with the pain of more cuts than she could count. She was breathing heavily, trying to focus on anything other than what was happening in front of her.

Anders retrieved the camera and pocketed it. "Thank you. It's difficult to find useful supporters. I'll approve the transfer of equipment to your group as a bonus for your hard work." She dropped the knife back in the bag without cleaning it and looked between the two of them.

"That should be enough to keep them away from politics for a few days. I'm going to have to go and organise our contribution to Hereson's big event, so I'll leave you to it. Any contact from Kirk or Harper and you let me know immediately. _Capture_, not kill."

Anders turned to leave, but looked over her shoulder when she reached the heavy steel door on the far end. "And yes, it's your turn now, Kosra. Just don't damage anything valuable until I tell you to. Not unless you want me to find a third Kosra, one with a pseudonym that's not so stupid."

The door shut with a heavy groan and Regina looked up at the grime-covered windows above Kosra's head. She finally understood what Harper had tried to tell her. Capture was worse than death.

He didn't move, eyes fixed on the door. Her gaze lowered so he'd have to look in her eyes before he did the rest of Anders' work for her. If this was the strategist behind Royce's rebellion she wished nothing but failure and death on the whole lot of them.

Kosra turned around and she focused on her thoughts. She wasn't the first and wouldn't be the last.

He fell to his knees in front of her and pulled someone else from the bag. And yet instead of what Anders had told her was coming, he began cleaning the blood from her arm with a towel.

Regina stared, eyes wide with confusion, until he'd cleaned her arm and bandaged it. But this was another trap, no doubt. That was how it worked. A slight glimpse of hope and then the truth.

Kosra remained still, his expression unreadable. "I'm not going to do it," he finally said, the words emerging in a harsh undertone.

"It worked once. No more. Just get it over with."

"I won't be her puppet." Another lie. She saw something close to distaste in his harsh face.

"Just shut up."

"Believe what you want." He stood up and kicked the bag of tools across the room before leaving. The next hour was spent entirely alone in the silent warehouse, the only source of light the obscured moonlight shining through the old industrial windows.

Anders was wrong. Neither of them would ever risk themselves for her sake, and why should they? Who was she to them? A useful tool for Harper and an amusing distraction for Kirk. It was humiliating, to be used like this. To be tortured not for information, not for personal vengeance, but as a small step in a plan targeting someone else. To be given as a prize to a loyal servant, looked down on even by him.

She leaned back in the chair as far as she could, wincing when the bandages tightened against her exposed flesh. The restraints around her limbs were far too tight to shift and the chair was bolted to the floor. They'd thought it through, clearly.

It still seemed more a dream than reality. She'd met the woman before, heard her speeches, and recognised the respect she had from the military. Why would somebody with so much authority play these perverse games? Memories of her kneeling with the knife in her slender hand, fingers slick with blood, cutting skin away while making what might as well have been small talk, refused to leave Regina's mind no matter how hard she tried to banish them. The pain was a constant reminder, so difficult to endure that her breathing was laboured.

More hours passed filled with feverish thoughts and futile attempts to think of something she could say or do to change the hopeless reality of her situation. The strength needed to hold her head up became too much, and she gradually slipped into a restless sleep.

A calloused hand grasping her shoulder broke through the reprieve of sleep without resistance. Regina tried to lurch back before remembering her situation. The moonlight had given way to the sun's glare entering through the windows on her right.

Her head rose with a crack of dissention from her neck. The muscles in her legs and shoulders were stiff and aching, and a glance to her left showed the bandages had changed colour, from white to faint red.

"Drink," said a low voice on her right. Kosra was back, holding a bottle of water. Regina turned aside, unwilling to tolerate this brute forcing her to drink anything.

He scowled at her, obviously irritated. "She didn't tell me to do this. She didn't tell me to feed you either, just to leave you here until someone showed up to collect you. You think I'm obligated to make sure you don't dehydrate?"

More lies. It would be a trick, no doubt. Harper was right. And yet he didn't seem to be lying. Why would Anders care if she went without food or water for a day or two? And yet he hadn't done anything other than cooperate.

"Give me a reason to believe it," she finally said, voice hoarse from pain and thirst.

He stepped to the left, directly in front of her. "I'm Borginian. I'm here to pay your country back for what it did to mine."

"So? I was in the military. Looks like a good opportunity to me."

He was growing visibly frustrated, she could tell. "Yeah, so I help her torture you, even join in the fun myself? I'm not going to lie and say I wasn't tempted. That'd make me no better than any of the scum who did that to my people. You think she doesn't know that? _Everything_ that woman does or says is a test. She wants me to prove I'm just as bad as she is, and I'm not doing it. Now drink the fucking water before I change my mind."

And she did. Demeaning as it was, she was feeling the effects of dehydration and needed fluids more than either of her captors could have known after the long hike the day before, not to mention the blood loss. Whether he was lying or not there was nothing to be gained by refusing. The moment the cool water hit her parched throat was the only one since her parting with Kirk that hadn't been entirely wretched, but it only lasted a brief few seconds.

"Why is she doing this? What did they do to her?" Regina asked, regretting the show of weakness immediately.

Kosra shrugged. "How should I know? She did this to me too. Told me I was being executed, but it was all an act. I got to the execution chamber and they had the actual Kosra strapped to a bench with a letter stuffed in his mouth."

He paused and rubbed his restless eyes with one hand. "Official statement from Borginian command. Kosra's militia was to directly work under Lieutenant Colonel Eliza Anders. Only thing was, Kosra told this blonde bitch to get fucked, so after I put the note down she slashed his throat and told me I was his replacement. We've been working for her ever since."

Regina looked up at the ceiling with a weak smile, her back aching even from such a small movement. "I had no idea, did I? You happy now, Kirk? We didn't even have a chance."

Kosra remained silent and threw the empty bottle at the wall behind her. It was difficult to imagine that the concerns Regina had always shared with Rick, and even people like Kirk and Harper, could be shared in some small way even by enemies with different cultures and allegiances. Even if they were opposed in every way, someone like him still had his own thoughts and desires.

The heavy grind of the steel side door interrupted her reprieve. Someone entered, but past Kosra's muscular frame it was impossible to tell who other than by the echoing sound of their boots on concrete. Her heart rate rose and she could feel sweat gathering on her forehead. Surely the night before was enough.

"You're both still here? That's convenient." Eliza Anders approached them with one hand wrapped around her long hair, the other holding a black briefcase.

Regina found it difficult even to look at her, but shifted herself around in the chair as much as possible to make her point. "You're surprised?"

She dropped the briefcase and kicked it to the side. "Well, I had expected there would've been a bit more activity while I was away. I've been surprised a few times lately. This scenario is familiar, and I'm trying to remember why that concerns you."

Anders tapped the side of her head to illustrate her ongoing thought process before lazily pointing at Regina. "I remember. I gave a young Borginian woman to your friend, the one who never stops bothering people. I wondered what he'd do, but interrogation was all I cared about and, clearly much like Kosra here, he restrained his baser urges. She was very attractive and nobody would've missed her, and the same can be said for you. Still, there she was, and here you are. Interesting." Regina glanced at the enormous man behind her interrogator; his jaw was clenched in clear anger.

She shrugged. "That's fine. He got the results by befriending her. Now they're never seen apart. Gail approved, you know. He was happy to see his student with a friend, or lover, or whatever she is. He didn't say it, but he never says anything. What good is devotion when it's never expressed?"

That was more than enough to get her attention. "Why was Gail with you?"

"He came to negotiate at a demanding time. Not that we were ever interested. Did you know General Hereson offered to put me in charge in southern command? I'm not interested in administration, so it was an entirely wasted offer. He must be panicking to offer one of the five most powerful positions in the nation to a young woman. Always a bit of a closet sexist, that one."

"You're more interested in torture, right?" All she could hope was that Gail had been allowed to leave safely. She said as much earlier, Regina thought she'd heard, but the night before was too painful to remember clearly.

"Not especially, but more than administration. You can learn a lot from torture. Even when it doesn't happen, as the two of you just learned. As for your arm, that was necessary. Harper will know what it means and come to save you. Your new friend Edward should provide the rest of the leverage needed." Anders' face showed little more than boredom, as if she were simply answering questions at a public interview.

"Why's he so important? What'd he do to you?" Keep her in a good mood and maybe she won't start flaying my leg this time, Regina thought bitterly.

"If you haven't guessed by now you're in the wrong line of work." She absent-mindedly ran a finger over Kosra's chest. "As for the importance of the matter, normally it could wait. I just need to keep both him and Edward busy for a few days."

This was a test. She knew it was a test because her adversary was grinning, and she rarely showed any emotion at all. Kosra was right, Harper was right, they were all right.

"You're here to prepare for Royce's attack?" Regina guessed.

"Well done. You hinted at this earlier, you know, so you're not hopeless. Hereson is going to announce a reforms package to try and diffuse the tension among the populace in two days. This would be a problem."

"What's the solution?" Indulge her and hope she leaves quietly.

Anders took a step closer, head slightly tilted. Even such a slight movement was threatening. "If I tell you and you escape, I lose. But that makes it more exciting, I think. We're going to assassinate a government minister, Vorman. Then we'll start questioning the spectators in an attempt to 'find the culprit', but in the uniforms of Hereson's personal soldiers. It'll get bloody. Very messy, very quickly. The aftermath will be such a surge of violence and outrage that we'll have all the justification to call for a legitimate overthrow of the government. Anyone opposing us will be implicitly supporting the indiscriminate use of military force on innocent civilians."

Regina was used to killing, and so much of her life had been defined by violence. That they would go so far, butchering their own supporters and blaming a man trying to avoid a civil war peacefully, to justify their revolution—how could they defend that? She looked at Kosra, trying to hide the movement of her head, and the tall man couldn't help but meet her stare. There was a hint of discomfort, almost anxiety, in his otherwise blank stare.

"Did Royce approve this plan?"

"He didn't ask what my methods would be. He's too smart to want to know, because if he knew he couldn't continue the way he has to. He needs me more than I need him."

The dull light of the morning sun shifted and intensified, illuminating the three of them. Anders in her utilitarian outfit, an empty look on her youthful face. Kosra in his militia uniform. Regina in the bloodstained remnants of her black sleeveless shirt, chosen especially because she wanted to look like a regular person for just one day. For herself, and for him. There was little hope, she knew, for any of them.

"Harper would have tried to stop me. He's done it in the past. And he'd have brought you in on it, as well as that slut and the rest of his miserable friends. Too much of a risk. I don't like losing." And now she was speaking quietly and softly, almost to herself.

"You're willing to use these methods, but for what? Your revolution is meaningless if you have to make it happen this way."

"I don't particularly care about anything as abstract as revolution. I like to watch people, and to learn how they think, and how they work, and what their limits are physically and ethically, and why they think they're alive. And once I understand them I like to break them."

"If they knew they wouldn't follow you. None of them. So you're just helping him start this conflict because you get off on making people miserable, is that it?" Regina asked, wanting to be disgusted, trying to be shocked, and ultimately finding she wasn't even surprised.

"It's not nearly as sadistic as it sounds. A desire to understand other people is perfectly natural." Another step closer. "What other goal would you have me strive for?" The interrogator brushed her hand over the bandages on Regina's arm. "Status, power, respect? Any of those? I have them all and they bore me. Anton lied when he said ideology would give me a reason to live."

She continued without pause. "Do you know why you annoy me? You think I'm a monster for torturing you. You knew that armies under my command had killed thousands and that was fine, but it was only when I tied you to a chair and started cutting pieces off your arm that you changed your mind.

Anders knelt down and stared at Regina for a long, disquieting moment. "He was the same way. Dissatisfied, tried to pretend resisting my army made his life meaningful. Eventually he admitted it was a lie. I admired that."

And now they were back to Harper. The lack of emotion in her eyes or face seemed incompatible with the near obsession she had with the man. Again she brushed a hand over Regina's bandages, grasping the lean muscle with two fingers.

"I gave him a reason to live. He wanted to stop me from ever doing it again. So much emotion that he just couldn't remember how dull it all was. I think I've done the same for Edward. A developing relationship with someone like you. The return of his research. Independence from the military. I took it all from him in one day. That changes people."

Her grip tightened, only slightly, but she released it and stood up. "We'll see what they do now. I've given them such an opportunity, it'd be a shame if they wasted it by running away." Her emotionless stare fixed itself on Regina's face. "But I'm being unfair. You know Kirk better than I do: what do you think he'll do?"

Trick question. If she got the answer wrong she'd be punished, that was how this had to work. Still, it was an obvious question. If she'd set this elaborate game up and invited both of them to play, what would they do? What would Anders do if they tried to run? Cut her throat and leave her there to rot, most likely.

"It depends," she murmured, eyes fixed on the bloodstained floor below. "Harper will know it's a trap. He won't fall for it. Just what did you do to him anyway?" No sooner than she said it did the inherent contradiction become apparent and she looked up. "But I'm the bait to lure him in?"

Anders nodded. "He wouldn't come, even knowing what could happen," she said morosely, trailing off only to look up with renewed energy. "But Edward will come. Every time you take something from him he tries to run away. I watched him on the verge of tears when Anton cancelled his project. He ran all the way to Borginia that time. Now there's nowhere left to run and I've left him Harper and his woman to use as pawns. He'll bring them all here, don't you see? And if he doesn't that's still fine; I've lost nothing, they've lost everything."

This had definitely gone beyond any level of thought required by strategy. She had them trapped, no doubt, whether they fell for it or not. Privately Regina thought she knew just from her reputation how little hope they had. Eliza Anders, the masterful strategist of the west, supported by an enormous military force even if she had temporarily abandoned their protection, would get what she wanted.

"Oh, there's one more thing," Anders said with an almost apologetic shrug. "Telling you that changed your status from non-threat to potentially dangerous. There are so few people I can speak to honestly, you see, that I get carried away sometimes."

"That's… fine?" Regina said cautiously, expecting another trap.

"No, it's not. Now if you run away too early it's going to cause some problems. I should have told you before we had our conversation." Her hand darted to her belt, they all saw what she was doing, but it was far too late: she buried the short knife in the underside of Regina's thigh and held it there, hand twitching once or twice.

This time it was too much. A painful hiss turned into a shriek when Anders twisted the knife and pulled it out, thick red blood dripping from her lithe fingers.

"Kosra, bandage it up," she ordered, wiping her hand clean on Regina's shirt. "I regret it, but someone like you could easily escape. Now you'll be in no position to run. We'll speak again before long, no doubt."

By the time Regina could bear the pain of focusing again Anders was gone, having left her pawn to clean up. When he cleaned the wound she didn't have the strength to bother pretending the pain wasn't agonising, but he worked with the efficiency of a practiced medical professional and sealed the wound as best he could, bandaging most of her thigh as he did so.

"I don't know what you did. Whatever it was, you shouldn't have got involved in this," he muttered, throwing the well-used roll of bandages back in the bag of tools.

"I dared to think for myself," she replied, hearing how weak her voice was and hating it.

"Is that so? I'll remember not to do that. Kosra tried it and got his throat cut. You tried it and you probably wish you'd had your throat cut. I wouldn't want to be this guy she's trying to lure in, I'll tell you that much."

It was easy to agree with him. That he was capable of enough compassion—no, it was surely pity—to have treated her as he had was fortunate enough. To expect any more was surely pointless, and the thought of Edward Kirk and Frank Harper as her last remaining friends inspired even less hope. Rick, Gail, even Mirzin: all had decided their allegiances, and all she'd really wanted was to find some degree of satisfaction with her own life. To be able to respect herself for something other than her abilities.

Was it such a ridiculous notion? As she adjusted to the throbbing in her thigh, now excruciating to move even slightly, Regina realised above all else that Anders had believed they would come back for her. If the woman truly was such an infallible strategist, as she'd been so willing to admit when it came to their chances of defeat, then perhaps she was right. Would Kirk finally grow tired of running and hiding from the people who'd ruined his life so many times? If that was her only hope then it was a small one.

There was so little she could do to change the outcome. Kosra looked back for a brief moment before walking away. Her arm would be covered in scars for the rest of her life and her left leg wasn't moving properly even in the restricted range of motion allowed by her restraints. She'd been stripped of everything she'd valued, even mobility, and the only thing left to do was wait.


	17. Chapter 17

_Note: Lots of monologues, I'm not exactly experienced with those. Detailed reviews would be appreciated for this one. Also, this is the first time anything I've written's broken the 100k mark, so that's nice. Once you're this far in it's much easier to maintain momentum. I say that now, but we'll see.  
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_Warning for explicit content. Really._

After a certain point discomfort becomes so ubiquitous that the urge to question it, to try to change it, fades away entirely. Accepting the judgements of others, of your betters, could only be considered natural, even more so when your own decisions have always been so hopelessly flawed. There was no shame in accepting your own flaws. The end result, after all, is the same.

Or so Gail told himself each and every time the urge to question an order tried to crawl into the back of his mind. It never lasted long. How could it when he had such a collection of failures to offer in defence of his way of life?

Nevertheless, it was becoming actively troubling. Despite his failure to force Colonel Royce to grant even a single concession to the military, General Hereson embraced him upon his return. No punishment, no admonishment; indeed, he was actually promoted to the dubious and unofficial, though powerful, position of the head of the general's personal guard. There was little guarding expected, in reality, except in the abstract sense. It'd been close to a week since they left for the diplomatic mission, such as it was, and he'd been extraordinarily busy ever since.

Hereson wasn't surprised at their obstinacy. Even hearing how Lieutenant Colonel Anders had turned down the command of southern headquarters, offered even after listening to her insults and watching her ignore all protocol to torment valuable prisoners instead of securing them, hadn't surprised him. Prisoners who'd used that time to escape. It was fortunate that she simply laughed at the general's offer, or would've been if not for the implications of their confidence.

"Something wrong? You're even less cheerful than usual," the man at his side asked as the elevator doors closed behind them, glancing up with an amused glint in his eyes.

"You know what I think, sir," Gail replied, uncomfortable with even that much familiarity.

"You're going to scare our guest if you act like this, you know."

He nodded humourlessly and made a futile attempt to stop scowling.

Hereson laughed. "That's the best you can do, I know." His amusement vanished as quickly as it'd appeared. "Just be careful with what you tell him. We can't let him send any troubling news back to central command just yet, not before the end of the week."

Gail nodded again, much more willingly. "I understand. We can't expect the civilian government to properly understand military matters, at least not yet."

"Exactly," Hereson replied. They stopped in front of an elegantly carved mahogany door, which Gail opened.

The back halls of the western command centre's eighth floor were certainly beautiful, built from the finest materials the country had to offer. Some of the designs even looked to incorporate Borginian technology. The conference room they'd just entered was reserved, under usual circumstances, for the very highest authorities and their assistants. It was a great honour to be allowed inside.

Gail closed the door behind them and waited at the entrance. The government's representative, the finance minister unfortunate enough to have been caught in the city when the conflict began, was already seated. Minister Vorman was tall and wiry, one of those unfortunate men who looked to have been awake for years on end. It would be a mistake to treat him so carelessly because of his appearance, they both knew.

They started with the required pleasantries, though it was obvious neither of them was in the mood for small talk. Economic matters, things which ought not to have required a military officer's input in most countries, were the next topic. Gail began to wonder why he was allowed to listen to these discussions. So little of what Hereson did was routine or even orderly.

Gail knew one thing without it ever being explicitly said. That he'd chosen to come back from Ibis Island, giving up his friendship with Royce, and that Hereson appreciated that enough to bring him, unofficially or not, into his inner circle. Not that it was a hard decision. Even if he sympathised with the man's objectives, and even if he admired him: his methods, and especially his approval of _her_ methods, were growing more contemptible by the week. Merestan was already a battlefield whether they admitted it or not, and they still refused to make their move.

A short wave brought his attention back to the important matter at hand. "This is something you can assist with, Gail," Hereson said, gesturing at a third seat beside him, which he reluctantly took. "Give Vorman a broad assessment of the situation from your perspective."

He glanced over at the finance minister. "Gail's the one I sent to negotiate with them as you requested, even though I told you it was a pointless exercise. He's also met most of the targets at one point or another." Vorman's bored expression changed, showing at least a hint of curiosity, but he remained silent.

Left with little choice, Gail took a deep breath and explained an abridged version of the conflict as he understood it. Leaving out, of course, certain details related to certain people, other details which would've alarmed the minister, and any assessments that might've indicated the situation was out of control. It was a short exchange, all things considered, one hardly worth their time.

"Which means they'll be unable to field any significant force outside their units already in the city until the presentation is complete. Kesler's force focuses on demolition; her units have only ever attacked poorly defended targets. Kosra's units, which we now believe are solely working with Royce, are regrouping after what appears to be an internal dispute. None of the other groups pose any threat," Gail concluded, wiping a drop of sweat from his forehead. Performance anxiety had finally become an issue while sitting in a meeting, of all places.

"Well, that seems to match the information I've been given," Vorman said, deep in thought. "What about the group that destroyed your fuel depot?"

Hereson's relaxed smile faded at the reference. He glanced over at Gail almost imperceptibly.

Did that mean be honest or the opposite? All he could do was use his own judgement, a prospect which didn't inspire much confidence. "I… I don't believe they'll be a problem in the future" he finally said.

After what he saw on Ibis Island there was no reason to believe they were actively fighting the government. Royce's faction were as much their enemies as his, and that meant… well, he couldn't begin to say. The stolen Stabilizer wasn't much of a risk for the moment, surely, but it said Kirk was alive and well. Regina was there too, unless both his own deductions and every word the man they'd confronted under the island were lies.

"No? I'll have to take your word for it," Vorman said after a long pause. He'd likely expected more, and the quick glance he gave Hereson confirmed it. "That'll do for now. They like it when I send the reports personally, you know, even if it does waste all our time. I'll see you tonight, James," he said, standing up to leave with a polite nod to Gail.

As the door closed behind Vorman they both sighed in relief. "Fortunately for us he's not interested in anything outside his own bank balance," Hereson muttered, his dignified posture collapsing into a far less official slouch.

It was a callous thing to say about the man dictating the nation's financial policy, but ultimately the general was right. Their situation was more precarious than they could risk admitting.

"If we can keep it from him we can keep it from the rest of them. Once the right concessions are on the table they're going to have a hard time justifying any rebellion without a lot of tedious diplomacy. Anton has always preferred dialogue to action, so I expect he'll want to formally respond. Eliza will advise him to strike early and he'll hesitate. If we can force them apart on this that'd be a tremendous result."

Gail nodded again. The night before had seen a great number of ceremonial guards, including those closest to the high level officers and officials, kidnapped from their homes. No demands had been made, no corpses found. It was an action that didn't match the capabilities or the identified intentions of any identified dissidents in the city, an ominous sign if he'd ever seen one. Maintaining the status quo for just one more day was all they needed to do.

Neither of them seemed willing to leave despite their duties. It was difficult, Gail knew, for the general to keep the schedule that he did. Even his own duties took their toll, physically and mentally, and he was twenty years younger than Hereson. There would be time for relaxation later, or so he'd always told himself.

"If you'll excuse me, sir, I'd like to return to my investigation," Gail finally said, standing up with a polite bow, something he'd observed Morrent do more than once.

"As you like. Inform me of any notable developments." Hereson looked at his watch with a grimace and stood up. "Time for more meetings, won't that be fun?"

They parted ways outside the hall, the general leaving for another room further down the hall and Gail for the elevator. It was something to be proud of, he knew, having achieved such a respected position at last. That was easy to understand; not as easy to make himself believe. He found himself questioning the path he'd chosen so often. His friends, his companions, his allies, his enemies: when did it become so difficult to distinguish one from another?

He emerged on the ground floor and surveyed the swarms of people below with a distasteful sigh. One disadvantage to working in one of the most important buildings in the nation was the sheer amount of activity he had to endure.

The door to his makeshift team's improvised office was already open, he noted with some surprise. They were using an empty building behind the SORT rooms; a quiet retreat from the noise of the main building was something they all needed.

He almost stopped at the door, reluctant to enter. Uncertainty could easily be a death sentence in his line of work; something would have to be done about it before long.

"Oh, you're back already? How's Vorman doing?" asked the impertinent voice of Hereson's assistant, Richard Morrent, as soon as he saw Gail.

"Does it matter?"

"Guess not," Richard said, shrugging. He was too energetic by far, though the comparison Gail tried to make with Rick ended the moment he realised the man's sense of justice was non-existent. "We've been lying to him for years. He probably knows, but… how did I put it last time? Financial lubrication? Yeah, that's it."

This was not a good start. Choosing to terminate the conversation entirely he looked around the relatively large, comfortably appointed office for his own assistant, though he made no formal expectations of her after Ibis Island.

Miranda Pretsin was laying on an enormous couch, something Morrent had ordered using official funds. He didn't bother asking whether that was a legal use of military money or not. Hereson seemed completely uninterested in how his money was used, so Gail decided for his own sanity not to give it much thought when twice his yearly salary was spent on furniture. Diplomacy was something he'd neglected for far too long, something his brief experience under Hereson had made clear all too quickly.

He glanced at Richard, who shrugged with a reassuring smile. After their debriefing he'd arranged a full medical team for her, though she'd stubbornly resisted hospitalisation under any circumstances. Instead she spent the days in the command centre helping with various tasks when able, usually receiving and analysing information related to their targets and passing the useful contacts to Gail for investigation. Medical appointments and supervision were required and likely would be for a long time. He knew Morrent didn't have to help her the way he did, and he also knew he was hanging around for her benefit. A man of his social status would be welcomed anywhere, they all knew, and yet here he was with a disgraced officer's daughter.

"How're you holding up today?" he asked, aware he still couldn't say it without it sounding unnatural. Nobody else was left to ask her, however, so he did.

She pulled herself up and stared at him. "Same as usual. Thanks for asking, though."

Well, it could be worse. He'd read her file at her request. Permanent illnesses were never going to be easy to deal with, even without what she'd seen under Ibis Island. "Any new leads?" he asked, telling himself he didn't have the time for small talk to hide his discomfort.

Miranda nodded with an odd look at the man behind Gail. "A report from the western coastal district, one of the old commercial areas. Apparently a large group of militia members took over the area for a few hours and disappeared without making any demands."

Unusual, but not excessively so. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, there was a call. A woman told me she wanted to speak to you. She knew your name," she murmured, looking at her slender hand. "I have her instructions here. She said it was urgent and only you would understand." She pulled a slip of paper from her pocket and handed it to him.

Something about this process was wrong. The number of people who knew him by name was incredibly small. The number outside the command centre who would need to use such an obscure method of contact...

"I'll take the call now. This could be what we've been looking for." What he hoped for above anything else was that Regina was trying to contact him at last. If only he could talk to her, explain what he'd done, she could be pardoned, surely. It was his fault, and Hereson understood the need to forgive enemies more than most.

"Request for a video call, how interesting," Richard said, leaning over Gail's chair.

Someone he knew, then, or one with reason to learn who he was. Regina preferably, but Kesler was an option. Anders, perhaps? But Miranda would have recognised her voice, so…

A panicked shout from behind alerted him to the screen. A young woman he couldn't help but recognise was staring back at him from what looked to be the inside of an industrial building. Long brown hair, a solemn stare, and almost a hint of nervousness marked out the woman he'd contended with under Ibis Island.

"You've got some nerve. I suppose you're not going to hand that Stabilizer to the authorities?" he asked, restraining the urge to be too aggressive.

She shook her head. "We can't do that," she said. Her voice was so soft he had to raise the volume. "And I'm sorry for scaring your friend. We didn't mean to hurt her."

"Then you shouldn't have—"Gail began, but he forced himself to stop. There was nothing to be gained arguing that, and he knew all she'd have to do is mention Regina's involvement to put him in his place.

He shook his head with a scowl. "What do you want, and why'd Harper make you do this? Too scared to face me after what he said?"

She flinched. Not a very intimidating threat, if that's what this was going to be. "You wouldn't have listened to him."

Valid point. "I'll give you one chance. Make it quick."

A brief smile was his reward, and not for the first time he wondered if this was a deliberate act. He'd last seen her storming a facility with a submachine gun.

"I need to show you something in person. Alone."

He almost laughed. "So you can finish me off? You really thought it'd be that easy?"

"I'm afraid if you aren't willing to meet us then someone you're very fond of is going to suffer," a louder, much drier voice said from the side of the screen.

Even knowing the man must be there didn't compare to seeing him again for the first time. "Kirk, you're there too? I was hoping I'd never have to see you again."

The man in question sat next to his messenger. His blonde hair was even longer than before, though he'd lost the lab coat and the deranged face of a man who hadn't slept in days.

"Hiding? You're an important man now, I hear, and your enemies kept me locked up in a dungeon. These good people," Kirk said in his usual smug manner, putting a hand on her shoulder for emphasis, "as well as your friend Regina, and mine if you believe it, rescued me. We've been independent ever since."

Independent. The word felt wrong. His instinct was to take control of the situation by any means necessary. Still, it occurred to him that he had no control over this. "Explain your meaning."

Kirk shrugged. "We've all been tormented for so long, you see, that we've given up taking orders. We'd hoped to stay out of the way for a while until you sort out all this internal squabbling for yourselves, but the choice is out of my hands now."

One thing he had learned: never let Kirk start an argument. "I'll concede one thing: you're not with Royce, and you're not with the military. Let me speak to Regina and I'll agree to your meeting."

And that removed any hint of smugness from the wayward researcher's face. Any satisfaction he felt was short lived; the man's face almost looked troubled. His companion was biting her lip and trying to shrink into the background.

"She's why we need to meet. You think I'd be contacting you for anything else?"

There was something wrong here. He wasn't qualified to say what, but this was closer to pleading than threatening. He glanced behind him and saw they were both watching, Richard with a look of bemusement on his face. Miranda almost seemed fascinated, her eyes fixed on the screen. He'd have preferred to do this in private, but after hearing so much that'd only make it worse.

Gail looked down at the table for a moment. Was it even a choice? What would the general say he should do? "Fine. Public place, no weapons." He looked back at his own allies. "If I don't contact you every hour assume it was a trap."

"This benefits us both, and when you understand why this is necessary you'll thank me," Kirk said. "Do you remember which hotel your friend was staying in? I suspect you do. We'll meet there."

Gail stiffly nodded his agreement and they ended the transmission. That was harder than it should have been, no doubt, but he stood up to leave anyway.

"You're seriously going through with it?" Richard asked. "Well, good luck. I'll handle your backup after the hour, but I figure you'll be fine. Treat this diplomatically, and that means no violence if it can be avoided. We've got too many enemies as it is without you adding them to the list. The first one was pretty cute, so I might have to admit some bias."

"Don't be too hard on them, alright? They could've killed us and they didn't," Miranda said, trying to sound positive without much success. He didn't share her optimism.

He looked back from the door and they both waved. A nice show of confidence in his abilities. That was one way to look at it.

It was an especially cold day, one of the first hints that summer was well and truly finished. The journey from the elevated command centre into the depths of the western district was entirely uneventful despite the relative lack of patrols in that sector. Regina's favourite hotel, though she'd always claimed to hate it, was in an especially ugly district, one he'd hoped to avoid.

The hotel was all but empty, something that could easily have been taken as a warning sign if he weren't as familiar with the place and its lack of business as he was. The bar was the most likely meeting place; he entered, noting a near-dead palm beginning to turn brown in the centre of the floor. Only one person was present, and she was sitting at a table in the centre of the room looking terribly nervous.

He took the seat across from her. "Not a trap after all? I'm surprised," Gail said, though at this point he'd have been more surprised if it was. What threat did he pose now except when there in person?

"Not a particularly frightening one, anyway," a sardonic voice said, and he looked behind only to see Edward Kirk slink out from behind a pillar. No, not especially frightening, although he knew the man was capable of violence.

Kirk took the seat between them and leaned in. "Well this is nice, isn't it?"

"Why are you here, Kirk?"

"Quite simply because I don't know what she's going to say either. We're the spectators here, although I warn you not to get comfortable. It's not going to be a pleasant day for any of us."

An implied threat? No, it didn't seem that way. "First I want to know who you are."

"She tells me her name is Jane. I doubt many of us have the luxury of asking whether that's her real name," Kirk said, looking up for a second. "Other than me, that is. I always liked my name, so why change it?"

Valid point or not, a likely pseudonym was a poor way to establish trust. Sitting with these people was undeniably difficult; both of them were once his enemies and likely still were.

She looked between them both, clearly uncomfortable. It occurred to him that he had nearly killed her twice.

"Could you tell me who your real enemy is?" Jane asked, still nervous.

Odd question, he thought, given their own status. "Colonel Anton Royce," Gail answered with some hesitation. "He's tearing his own country apart and I have to stop him. You should appreciate that. Both of you."

"We do, of course, although I hope you appreciate now how misguided you were, kidnapping me for his benefit," Kirk said, a hint of his usual arrogance returning.

Gail didn't dignify that with a response. "You said you contacted me because of Regina. She was with you, Kirk, I know she was. If you've hurt her expect this to end with an entire battalion hunting both of you and your friends down. I'll handle the executions myself."

"Calm down, you're always jumping to the wrong conclusions," Kirk snapped. "She saved me in more ways than one, if you must know, and of course you must, so all I want to do is return the favour. She took _everything_ from us, you understand? It's all gone."

That was the second most ominous thing he'd heard in the past few hours. "Explain yourself. Who took what? If you think being vague's going to get you anywhere—"

"I need to show you something, and then he needs to show you something," Jane said. She took a deep breath as if preparing to speak again, visibly hesitated and bit her lip; finally she pulled up the left sleeve of her woollen coat.

At first Gail had trouble seeing what she wanted him to see. Her forearm was bandaged in the place it'd been shot, but the skin around it and on the other side was severely scarred. Her upper arm was little more than a thick mass of scar tissue, but it reached from her pale shoulder all the way down to her wrist, even extending to the palm of her hand. Certain pieces of skin looked to have been flayed and poorly treated.

"You were tortured?" Gail murmured. She extended her arm across the table. It was a methodical piece of work. The cuts almost formed a pattern in places, as if they were deliberately placed for a certain effect.

He wasn't the only one silenced by the sight. Kirk was watching with something resembling distaste on his face. "Now that you've seen her, I need you to look at something else. Please try not to react without thought, if you're capable of that." He pulled a photograph from his pocket and handed it to Gail.

The setting was industrial, a warehouse or factory floor. A young woman with black hair was strapped to a chair and the chair was bolted to the floor. Her left arm was in ruins, slashed in some places, stabbed in others. Her pale skin was slippery, dripping with her own blood, and more ran down the chair onto the filthy concrete. It was an expression of agony and hopelessness and yet she was trying to hide her pain, he could tell.

"This is her, isn't it?" His hands were trembling against his will, his jaw so tight he could barely speak. "If this wasn't you then who was it? Tell me and I'll let you leave here alive."

"You need to know why—"Kirk began to say, but Gail's hand reached across the table in a second and pulled him from his seat.

"I told you not to be vague. Tell me this wasn't you or I'll give you a reason to tell me," Gail said, closing his hand around the man's throat. Did they bring him here just for this? Blackmail, was that it? His arm was shaking; Kirk's attempts to shake off his grip were entirely futile.

"You know who it was, how could you not?" Jane said, pleading with him to stop. She tried to pull them apart but Gail pushed her to the floor effortlessly. "You saw her do it to us again, you even tried to stop her, just let him go." She was terrified, he knew, with a panicked voice and shaking body, but it was so hard not to blame them, to choose not to take the easy way out.

He threw Kirk back with a groan of revulsion and collapsed into the chair, his head in his hands. He'd done it again. He disgusted himself. After all this he was the same man he always was with the same failings. Restraining himself from shouting from sheer frustration was next to impossible, but he managed to do it after looking back and seeing how tense they both were.

They'd brought this information to him at great risk to themselves. That much was true. Believing Kirk's motives were anything but malevolent was extraordinarily difficult even though he knew so little about either of them. Of course it was. "Look, I… I should've handled that differently." Couldn't even apologise, as usual.

"There's no need to apologise to me," Kirk muttered, the words coming out with difficulty. "I did the same thing to her when I realised. We're all despicable."

Gail stared at him. Edward Kirk was the last man he'd ever have pictured caring enough about anyone to lose his composure. He remained silent, having said and done far too much already.

"This picture was sent as a warning. The sender is trying to lure the two of us and a man I suspect you must despise into a trap," Kirk said.

Just the facts. No personal observations. "What's the message? Why do this to Regina's left arm only?"

"Because the message is for me, and for Harper," Jane murmured, running a finger over her scars.

"This is the time to tell me who you are, and who he is," Kirk said. He was actually trying to be sympathetic, Gail could tell, because he was attempting the same thing with difficulty. Was her subdued manner an act to make that easier? It was too difficult to say.

After a long moment of thought she sighed. "We're nothing special, we've simply lived far too long. We lived in the northernmost part of Alvernia, the states that wouldn't submit to full rule from central command," she said, tracing a pattern on the scars. "When your military invaded we tried to resist and we were doing pretty well."

This was a story Gail had heard from only one perspective. It was not spoken of often, or unless in great need. His own youth during the Borginian subjugation served as an all too bitter reminder of the truth of this.

"He and I were members of one of the more successful groups. We knew we couldn't win by force, but we still nearly forced a stalemate and we were sending people to tell the world what they were doing. It was working."

"What changed?" Kirk asked, his eyes gleaming with undisguised interest.

"The useless commander managing the invasion died a violent death only to be replaced with the upcoming prodigy Eliza Anders," said a harsh voice from the bar. Gail turned his head, but he'd seen this coming ever since Kirk's appearance. Frank Harper had entered behind them. The fierceness and spite he'd seen under Ibis Island were gone, replaced by a man who looked too weary to continue fighting.

Just the facts. No personal observations. Diplomacy was the solution, the general would surely say. Gail repeated that thought as Harper threw himself into the last seat. If this was Kirk's idea, he'd shown more tact than Gail had believed possible. If Harper had been there at the start he'd have thrown it all aside to arrest him without a second thought.

"We kept fighting, of course, but she learned our strategies. Guessed our weaknesses and vulnerabilities. Tested us, again and again, so much we didn't know what to do. We weren't trained in this, weren't much more than a collection of peasants. We didn't know how to respond, especially since her predecessor was so incompetent. Eventually she managed to split our force in half by staging a mass public execution and waiting for us to try and rescue them. It all went to hell after that."

"I stayed behind with him," Jane said, staring at the table. "The other half of the group raided the execution ground. The civilians had already been killed when they arrived. They captured everyone and dared us to come and rescue them on the same site, and when we wouldn't she had them left there until they died from dehydration. I couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, just knowing they were there and we could do nothing. So many bodies rotting in the snow. Half of them asked the soldiers to shoot them, and I would've done the same."

"After that it didn't take long. Every opportunity was a trap. She had her soldiers dress up as civilians, so much so that we couldn't approach the public anymore. They bombed a food bank disguised as us and we lost half our credibility in a single night. She offered rewards to any traitors in the ranks and followed through with them. Some of those men are still governing because of the deals they made with her," Harper said, continuing to list atrocity after atrocity. Gail's mind was filled with memories of Borginia and the things he'd done. After so long he'd hoped the pain would've lessened.

"Eventually it was too much. There were only thirty of us left and she captured us all. Told us the game had grown stale, even dressed up like a regular soldier to do it. The war continued even though our area was finally taken. We thought it was over, but we didn't understand her," she said, still tracing her scars.

"You saw her under that island," Harper said, meeting Gail's gaze directly. "She doesn't like to kill her prisoners. It's all about understanding them, getting into their heads. That's the start, anyway."

Knowledge of their nation's atrocities was hidden, in theory. A public secret in reality, often accepted as necessary or simply the way of the world. He'd never met anyone who'd been on the receiving end of their military's overwhelming force, much else someone who'd survived so long.

"You were in the military. An officer, even promoted to Major just last year," Gail pointed out, trying to find a hole in his story. Even if it were true, there was no way the Anton Royce he'd known would have let someone so cruel act as his second in command, much less as the only person he ever asked for advice. The man's own involvement in the Borginian conflicts had haunted him for years, and he was at least repentant.

"Our imprisonment was a long one, or so it seemed," Harper said. "She had more than enough time to play with us. The games continued, of course. All of us were kept in the same cell. Some days we'd be questioned, others we'd be well fed and have our wounds treated. Mostly we just sat there bored for days on end. That continued for long enough to make us think she'd forgotten us entirely."

He sighed, running one hand through his greying hair. "That's what we were meant to think. They'd watched for long enough to learn who our leaders were, who we cared for most, who was weakest. I was the deputy leader. The old guy you saw her kill was our leader. I wasn't the type to have many friends, but she," Harper said, pointing at Jane, "was my only real friend and they knew it."

Gail looked between them and at the man who'd brought them there. What was his reasoning? Kirk wasn't a man to do this without cause. Still, he had a feeling he knew where their story was going. He'd seen the reports and the strategies developed in the northern conflict. Many of them were being used in the city even now, and the same name was behind both conflicts.

"After that we were separated into groups. The two of us were one group by ourselves. They never mentioned any of the others again."

Gail wanted to tell them it was enough. That he already understood, that he could picture the rest, that he knew what the message meant. Action was what he needed. The release of having a goal and working toward it. He said nothing.

"They started by cutting her left arm apart, just like she's done to Regina. Every few days they'd come back and do it again. They made me listen some days, watch on others. Once they started to cut the skin off entirely. I begged them to stop so they just did it to me instead. We were treated as sub-human. Not Alvernian, not worth a second thought. Sleep deprivation and dehydration were my punishments while they cut my only friend to pieces." The man he'd seen under Ibis Island had returned, full of bitterness and despair, but without the strength to do more than speak.

"I asked them to kill me after the fifth time," she murmured, avoiding eye contact with any of them. "They refused and made sure we couldn't kill ourselves either. The next time Anders was finally there in person and she offered me a choice: accept another session, or tell her to do it to him instead."

"That's enough," Harper said, so agitated he stood up and scowled at them. "That's all they need to know, the point's been made."

Gail had been thinking the same for the last ten minutes. He knew his update was due. It would be possible to arrange for their imprisonment without difficulty. After what they'd endured imprisonment would surely be worse than death. Even more troubling, if these were the companions Regina had chosen, for whatever reason, who was he to deny her choice? He sent the confirmation that they were not to follow him.

"It's not enough," Kirk whispered, leaning across to look at her. "If you expect me to stop this I need to know what kind of adversary we're facing."

And to his immense surprise she nodded in agreement. Harper's face turned to stone, as if attempting to hide his dismay entirely, and he collapsed into the seat with his head in his hands.

"I refused to answer, and she refused to do anything without an answer. She asked me why I refused an offer that would have spared me any more pain. I told her it would hurt more to know I'd done that to someone else than it would to have it done on me. That my own life was irrelevant, and then he said the same. We wanted her to kill us."

"Yeah, and she thought about that one for a while. Said it was an interesting question, that she needed to _understand_ what we meant," Harper spat, his face twisted into a spiteful glower. "For a while she backed off. Let her personal guards decide what to do with us for a few weeks. I don't believe for a second either of you, especially _you_," he spat, pointing an accusing finger at Gail, "need me to tell you what they decided to do, and I know I'm not going to say it. If you think I'm going to sit here while you make her go through it again this entire deal's off, Kirk."

Kirk looked ready to disagree. That was such an obviously poor decision that Gail knew daring to ask would trigger a response every bit as violent as his own had been, so he raised a hand to silence them all. "You're right. That is enough. You still haven't told me how you became an officer under her command." He stopped himself, remembering the need for diplomacy. "You don't need to go into detail."

"Sometimes I still ask myself that. After the tortures were finished she changed tactics, and whatever they were doing didn't leave many memories. I remember sessions with interrogators, only they were gentle, almost kind. They told me over and over the things I believed were wrong. They showed me evidence showing so many of the crimes I'd blamed them for were fabricated. They talked for so long, and eventually what they were saying started to make sense. It must've been months, I think, but slowly they let us out of the cells, both of us, and it was like a completely different world. All the harshness, all the cruelty, it was gone. We met Kosirim and it was the same for him. Neither of us mentioned the cells, because we knew if they heard us they'd send us back."

"We didn't believe it. Knew it was a set-up. But no matter what we did this version of reality persisted. No explanations, no answers. Anders was polite and distant, like she barely even knew us. You'd never know we'd been fighting each other for half a year. She introduced me to Colonel Royce when he was there for a tour and I almost fell apart. How was I supposed to know what to do? If I told him what she'd done, what if he knew? What if he told her to do it? You know what it does to you, knowing you've got no choice but to play along or be tortured? My thoughts were always so slow, I'm sure she was having us drugged." Harper said, barely able to control the stream of words. His grey eyes had glazed over, fixed on the window and the brick wall outside.

"One day we tried to run away. A rear exit was open so we climbed over the side fence," Jane said, having better succeeded in keeping her composure. "The man who caught us was one of the guards from the cells." She hesitated, expression shrouded by her long hair. "He was the one who'd abused me the most," she whispered, "and he said he knew the truth, that we weren't Alvernian at all, and he was going to do it all again."

"And then he died," Harper said, his voice as distant as his gaze. "Just like that, our saviour and our tormenter, Eliza Anders cut that creature's throat from behind and asked if we were alright. Alvernian soldiers everywhere, all pretending to be on our side, to have saved us from a deserter."

"And you believed them? How could it be so easy?" Kirk asked, his tone wavering between fascination and revulsion.

She shook her head. "No, we didn't. Sometimes she looked at us, almost smiling, as if daring us to try to fight her. The first time was so horrible, how could we ever risk going back to the cells?"

"It was what she wanted, we came to realise. It wasn't the torture, it wasn't even personal. She wanted to take her enemies and change them. Everything we were was taken away, but then it was _replaced_. She gave us all new lives, entirely the opposite of what we once were. I saw it all in her smile. When we were there in a dining hall full of aristocrats and officials, and she just grinned at me from across the room, like we both knew a secret they didn't. Like we had something _special_. That was when I knew," Harper said, entirely lost in his memories.

"We lived in the command centre, ate their food, befriended their soldiers, and wore their uniform. Eventually it became easier to stop resisting, to just let her win. When she asked me to become an officer under her I agreed, because what was the alternative? Everything we had was given to us by her, and everything she said was another test. She even protected us from the other officers. Months turned into years. She had us test her strategies in the field, always watched, always monitored, just waiting for a sign of rebellion. For a while I genuinely believed it: I was Alvernian, my name was Frank, the northern states needed to be punished and I was the one to do it."

"You could have killed her, surely? One opportunity, one mistake—"Kirk began to ask. They both cut him off at the same time.

"She wanted us to try, don't you understand? Once she invited us both to a private dinner, even gave us steak knives, left a loaded pistol only a few steps away from us. Such pleasant conversations we had, and I knew it was a game. Daring us to try it. Seeing if we remembered, if we knew. If we were grateful or not." Harper said, and the depths of his paranoia were slowly becoming apparent.

Gail understood. He could see Kirk did too. She'd ruined them both so thoroughly that they'd never have been able to even attempt to kill her. He'd lived a lie for years, believing it to keep himself sane, trusting that he was being watched, that she was infallible, and that the games hadn't ever stopped.

Harper stopped speaking for a moment, his brow furrowed and his hands twitching. "Eventually I wanted to believe it. Everything I had, everything I was, the life I was living. I had status, and power, and respect. The pain had finally stopped. A Major in the almighty Alvernian state military. I saw Jane and Kosirim less and less and my entire life was lived in Anders' shadow. Near the end the woman who'd had me tortured, who gave my only friend to her soldiers, was closer to me than anyone else I knew. We did everything together, she even started sharing her thoughts with me. How she looked at things, what she felt. Nothing like her public image. I'd never met anyone so intelligent, so insightful. For a while I really wanted to believe it could be true."

And now his entire body was shaking. "It was the skirmish on that island that did it, you know. When she gave three Borginians we captured to her men and had the rest executed. She hadn't changed at all, and I realised I hadn't either. It was nothing but an elaborate lie right from the start."

He trailed off, obscuring his face with one hand. This time Gail had heard enough. So many people, no matter how they portrayed themselves, were utterly ruined on the inside. His own internal torments seemed little more than trivial compared to the vast multitudes who'd suffered the way these two had, and all because of the apathy of men like him. It couldn't be allowed to happen again.

If he'd known what she'd done, what she'd go on to do only a few days later, what she had to be planning, he'd have killed both Anders and Royce that night under Ibis Island even if it had cost him his own life. Sacrificing a thing of such little worth to end this entire conflict would've been the right thing to do, the one thing he could've done with his life to improve the world.

"Tell me what we have to do," Gail said. He didn't care about their past now. That he had legitimate reason to capture the three of them. His decisions, his apathy, his failure: that was why Regina was being tortured.

"So you agree to help us, and so easily?" Kirk said, breathing an obvious sigh of relief.

"Don't mistake my intentions. My priority has always been to stop this from turning into a civil war. Now you're telling me this butcher has come back to the city without her armies? If we can rescue Regina, if we can kill Anders, the loss of his strategist might be enough to convince Colonel Royce to call off the revolt." Kirk was unlikeable, to put it lightly, but Gail had thought the same of Rick for years. Personal opinion was irrelevant when it came to anything as serious as this.

"You may be right, if it's not too late to be called off. Great man or not, he's a figurehead, and people aren't rising up just because he told them to," Kirk replied, looking at him with an unreadable look in his eyes. "After listening to that unfortunate tale I'm inclined to think we can use her sadism against her. I've studied Anders' successes; this will be difficult, no doubt, but she simply doesn't have the resources to hold off any significant counter-attack. I imagine she's relying on my notorious disinterest in other people."

"And why do you say that?"

Kirk shrugged evasively, but it was Harper who answered. His voice was still shaking. "They've been relying on Kesler's team for sabotage. Thing is, Kesler's the opposite of Anders. They despise each other, trust me. I had to listen to dear Eliza tell me what she was going to do to her more than once. Even asked me if I'd like to help. Kesler doesn't even know her commander's back in the city, so Anders can't use them as shock troops, and to do that she'd have to admit she's doing this for personal reasons anyway."

"A quick raid, then, is what you're suggesting? She'd kill Regina the minute she realised you'd involved me in this."

Kirk shook his head. "She likely would. I have something else in mind. I'll have the information for you tomorrow. That's when this is scheduled to start; expect them to be somewhere in the western district."

So that's how he wanted to do it? Withholding information no doubt, but there was little to do be about that. "Just tell me why you're doing this, Kirk. After what we did to you—"

"Indeed, you did return me to this miserable city and condemn me to imprisonment. And she was the one to save me from that fate, and the first in my entire life to try to understand me before condemning me again. What would you have me do instead? Run away this one last time? Abandon her to the fate that befell them so I can have a few more weeks in the gutter?" Kirk asked, gesturing at Harper and Jane.

Gail wanted to believe him. Needed to be believe him. Looking at the miserable woman in front of him and her scars, internal and external, knowing Regina would soon be in her position if they did nothing, he decided he had little choice but to believe the erratic researcher. To trust Regina's analysis of these people over his own so that he could finally hear her reasons in person.

"Alright. You've got your chance. All of you. I'll prepare a team and await your instructions. No contact by this time tomorrow and I'll go after her—and you—myself." Only then did it occur to him: the time for the transfer overlapped with General Hereson's presentation. Did Anders hope all the city's soldiers would be focused on the command centre during the handover? He assumed so.

"Thank you. For letting us explain, that is," Jane said, resting her head on the scarred palm of her left hand.

"I suppose I'll have to give you some credit too," Harper said after a long moment of hesitation. "As for what I said under that island, you weren't the one I should've directed that—"

Gail interrupted him. "No. You made a valid point. I ignored Regina for years, relying on her skills and giving nothing back. I abandoned her when she needed me most because I was too weak to admit I relied just as much on her. Why bother pretending otherwise? Still, she would've been offered a pardon. I assume you were unaware."

His eyes widened. "Never saw that coming. All I could think of were the cells. That I could stop it happening to someone else. Not a single thing about that day was done right, was it?"

Images of the sick woman living in his old SORT office filled Gail's mind and he shook his head. "It's our duty to take responsibility for what we've done."

"It's absurd, but I do believe that's why we're still here."

Gail chose to believe him. "This doesn't change the reality of our situation. I'm an Alvernian military officer, and the three of you are—"

"Are what?" asked Edward Kirk, his usual smugness returning at the first sign of an argument. "We're not criminals, are we? None of us have fought against the government, and they're both victims of the worst kind of war crimes that were sanctioned by your superiors. As for the stolen Stabilizer, would you rather I have it for private study or Royce has both the Ibis Island generator and the Stabilizer?" He shrugged, pushing back a stray lock of blonde hair. "I'd say we're not really of much concern to the military, wouldn't you agree? Remember, the woman you're so desperate to rescue is one of us, and she insisted that I stay away from military officials in the future."

"I'm not threatening you. If this works Regina can do as she likes. If that means going with you, we'll both have to deal with the consequences. Despite that, the only way to make this legitimate would require turning you in and I've decided not to do that. After this is done we're finished, Kirk. You're going to leave this conflict behind and start over. Whatever happens tomorrow this problem is the responsibility of the state military, not you. Agreed?"

"I don't intend to fight your war for you. The responsibility for ending this is yours now, so try not to make a mess of it. Once I take back what she's stolen from me, that'll be enough."

Is that so? Not a direct answer, he knew, but it would be enough. The man's intent was more important than his response.

As if by unconscious agreement all four of them decided to stand up. Gail couldn't help but think of the meeting as his first real experience with diplomacy. His new position, so close to the nation's leaders, was something he was determined to excel at, and perhaps it was a better way to handle disagreement than constant conflict.

It was hard to believe how dangerous the three of them were, seeing them in this setting. Harper was still staring out the window, barely even concentrating on the rest of them. Jane had pulled her sleeve down to conceal her scars but still looked shaken. Only Kirk looked more alive than he had been upon arriving. His back was straight, his clothes and hair clean, and his eyes bright with anticipation.

"I'll prepare a team tonight. Remember: no contact by the start of General Hereson's speech and I'll come and find you—and Anders—myself." He turned and left without another word.

The long walk up the central stairway to the western command centre, buffeted by bitter winds from the western sea, was when Gail finally made his decision.

He knew what would happen if he told Hereson. The western districts would likely be swept clean in a display of unwarranted force. The chance to capture someone so important would be deemed too valuable to ignore. The anti-government rhetoric being employed to such devastating effect by their enemies would be proven entirely true in one night. If what they'd said of Anders was true she would've anticipated this response, perhaps was even expecting it.

How could he justify revealing that information? Was it unfaithful not to tell General Hereson? Would it be another betrayal to tell the general knowing the consequences for Regina? Which was more important? It was too hard to say.

Knowing the right path was impossible, he'd come to realise. All that could ever be done was to make the best decision with the information available at the time. The inevitable consequences of those actions were to be embraced, not avoided; that was the only way he could ever hope to change. It was contentment, not perfection, which he needed to pursue.

_End note: Most of this story should now read quite differently the second time. Try the last part of c. 14 if you don't believe me._


End file.
